


The Unfamiliar Taste of Sunlight

by NewYearsDay



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Be on the lookout for my extremely dry sense of humor, Dipper and Pacifica become BFF's, F/F, High School, Older, PINEing haha sorry, Slow Burn-ish, Tonight the role of father figure will be played by Grunkle Stan, au-ish, mabifica
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 116,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24141469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewYearsDay/pseuds/NewYearsDay
Summary: Kissing a girl was totally all it was cracked up to be and more. For Pacifica Northwest, 'just a kiss' spiraled into the complete destruction of life as she knew it in one fell swoop. Was she even a Northwest anymore? Would she ever see or talk to her parents again? Stripped of her pride and literally everything else, she flees to the home of the only people she ever trusted, learning that life, while eternally difficult, presents beautiful moments just when one needs them the most.
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Mabel Pines
Comments: 113
Kudos: 226





	1. The Day That Will Live in Infamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Child abuse
> 
> So if any of you also happen to read Carmilla fanfiction, you might know me from my other fic, "If Heaven Really is a Place on Earth, It Sure as Hell Isn't Berlin." If not check it out. I promise that I'll post the next chapter in the next week of so.
> 
> Anyway, this fic. I say in the tags that it's AU-ish, so here's what I mean. I like the idea of just a town that's ambiently supernatural, which is essentially the plot of the show. When it comes to lengthly fanfictions however, I'm more interested in the romance of it than anything else. So in this fic, there are still magical creatures and weird stuff going on, but there's no Bill Cipher, so any actions relating to him that happen in the show, didn't happen or wont happen in this. I'm just concerned with Pacifica learning to love and accept herself, OK? (Also I don't like BillDip but don't tell anyone shhhh).
> 
> So this is just a high-school romance story, that also just happens to have mermen and gnomes and stuff. End of story. And now, the beginning of the story. 
> 
> I know this note is getting long, but for a little more context, the Pines twins and Pacifica are already close friends at the time this story starts. Sometime over the past couple years, Pacifica more or less grew out of her stuck-up attitude, not that it doesn't still sometimes come out. Other characters were not so willing to accept a changed Pacifica, but you'll see. This context isn't really even relevant to this chapter, I'm just putting it out there.
> 
> 5/18/20: I'm updating this note because I'm creating a companion playlist for this fic. Each chapter represents five songs in the playlist, so the first 5 are the vibe for chapter 1, and so on. Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=oDgynC72RcO0NtZvRQ7HeQ
> 
> (The first song on the playlist was just for giggles, not actually part of my attempt at musical storytelling)
> 
> I'm not SUPER active on tumblr, but I will be posting chapters, playlists, and more info on their. If you have questions about my work, I'd love to hear them. My asks are open.  
> Link: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> 5/24/20: Updated for grammar and stylistic things.

It seemed as though Memorial Day had come early that year. Pacifica knew that the second she got home that there would be another death to honor. Not that there would be much honoring at all, considering she would surely be thrown in an unmarked grave, doomed to be erased from the sands of time by the hands of her own parents. She could see it now. Her cruelly appropriate last words: “I can explain.”

And explain she could. There was an explanation. The explanation was that Pacifica Northwest was a huge, flaming, lady-loving, girl-kissing, Cate Blanchett worshipping, sapphic, LESBIAN. She just didn’t want her parents to find out, or anyone else, really. No one was ever supposed to find out for at least another 10 years. That was enough time for her to get out of podunk Gravity Falls and go somewhere where rich snobs were a dime a dozen. Here, she was the only rich snob in a sea of less-fortunate, but all too nice villagers.

It was one villager in particular that had caught her attention barely three evenings ago. Pacifica barely knew the names of her own parents. It was too much to ask for her to learn those of her peers, girl in question included. NIGHT in question, however, would be one to remember for the ages, and unfortunately one of the best of her life, when compared to all the others.

The night in question. Three nights ago, the Saturday before Memorial Day. There was a house party involved, at someone else’s house. Was she invited? She didn’t need to be. Pacifica showed up at the door and was greeted with the joy one receives after reuniting with a long-forgotten friend. Oregon Mays could be a little snappy and temperamental, but it was still almost summer and it was hotter than usual. Damn global warming. Summer had always been Pacifica’s least favorite season. It’s indecisiveness and temper forced her to reflect too much inward. She felt they were almost unsettling in their similarity. And besides, if she had a dime for every time she’d been referred to as a “force of nature”, well then maybe she’d be independently wealthy.

It pained and pleasured Pacifica to ponder the almost paranormal nature of how the evening progressed, but if she were to soon be forced to give an oral report on her own failings, then she had better get the story straight in her head. It was a mere ten minute drive between her house and the high school, and she had already spent an extra hour stressing in the parking lot. People had started to give her weird looks. The teachers were even starting to leave, and they were giving her even weirder looks. So there she was, circling the block two or twenty times just so she could attempt to get a chance to speak. In the back of her mind, Pacifica knew it was futile. Even though the incoming confrontation would feel like the most attention she'd get from her parents in months, her own thoughts and feelings would be paid no mind. Nevertheless, she returned to the mental gymnastics.

There was a little bit of beer involved. Not a lot, just a little. The socialite had always preferred the smoky notes of a nice chianti, but one should not bite the hand that feeds them or pours them a drink. So she had a glass or two. It was warm beer, the weather was so uncharacteristically hot, and the tacky tiki torches set up around the backyard made her yearn for snow. Pacifica could feel herself getting sluggish and sleepy, but to risk falling asleep was not an option. The threat of bodily harm befalling her in her slumber would have just been the cherry on top of what Pacifica considered to be an overall bad life. She made her way through the house and out the french doors to the back deck. She gazed around at the other partygoers. From her vantage point, there was not a frown in sight, and no one else was left alone. Everyone else either laughed with their friends or was not-so-discreetly getting it on with their lovers. She watched as two girls passionately locked lips on a deck chair, not caring how her staring would be perceived. She was Pacifica goddamn Northwest, and if she wanted to watch two girls kiss for the enjoyment of her own repressed sexuality, then she would.

The kissing turned to more, and the blonde really started to feel like a creep as she observed the removal of a bikini top or two. She was going too far, and with every ounce of strength, forced herself to focus again on the back yard.

There was a pool involved. Pacifica had known this going in, and dressed accordingly. She just didn’t expect herself to actually partake. The early Summer heat was killing her, and almost like the fireworks going off above put her into a trance, she made her way over to the water’s edge. She felt the eyes and heard the wolf whistles as she methodically pulled off her shirt and shorts, but ignored it all in favor of the blue expanse calling for her. Pacifica dove in, and for a few moments, every problem she had was washed away. There was no concern about her family or school. She didn’t even care that the chlorine would inevitably turn her precious blonde hair green.

The version of Pacifica that was currently retroactively deconstructing the situation cringed at that thought. Her tips had stained green, and her mother really ripped her a new one over it.

“Maybe I’ll just chop it off,” she thought, “or just let it fade to my natural color. New life, new look, am I right ladies?”

The Greek chorus inside her mind affirmed this train of thought.

But in the moment, under the water, where sound became muffled? Pacifica opened her eyes and for a split second, saw her life is sharp clarity, even though it stung to do so. Then her lungs cried out for air and she was forced to break the surface. Body met air and all senses came back two fold. The music was louder and Pacifica watched as the subwoofers made ripples across the pool’s surface. The salty taste of chlorine made her feel more drunk than a million glasses of wine could. The girl next to her was giving her eyes in a big way. Pacifica was giving them back.

Pacifica Northwest was aware that she was beautiful. She was also aware that her past narcissism gave her an edge, that was sharp, but enticing. The blonde was, however, proud to announce that she had, for the most part at least, grown out of attitude. In a way, she felt that it gave her more of an edge than ever before. Before, people knew that she was pretty, but that she was also a pretty mythic bitch. Now, since she was more approachable, bashful and still a little biting, but approachable, it gave her more of an ability to drift above it all. Beauty, brains, and adjacently pleasant, she had it all. It made her unattainable, which was fine with her. She had accepted that for all her virtues and vices, what she wanted most was to just move through high school as easily as possible and get out of godforsaken Gravity Falls. Love hardly crossed her mind when she could help it, and if she was being honest, Pacifica could rarely help it.

For all their vices and virtues and the opportunity to live out a coming-of-age-movie, the jocks that lurked by her locker, or the brainiacs that passed her notes in the middle of history bowl never interested her. Sure, she wasn’t outwardly mean to them anymore, but she brushed them off like one does with mosquitos.

Girls however, were another story. Oftentimes, it was Pacifica herself that was the one caught staring. She could tell that sometimes, when caught, the object of her attention got visibly uncomfortable. It was an unfortunate aftershock of her shaken reputation. One does not like to be observed by a school bully, no matter how reformed they might be.

In terms of sexuality, Pacifica had been aware for quite awhile. To her, boys were just...not desirable. Only in her wildest dreams, however, did Pacifica think of stealing away with some beautiful girl and whisking her away from Gravity Falls, draining her bank account as well as her relationship with her parents. Only in her deepest thoughts did she dare to yearn for a life somewhere else. But what was she going to do. Leave the town her family founded? She may as well change her name to Pacifica Blasphemy.

But back to the girls, because they already occupied so much of her mind already. Or at least, one specific girl. The one giving her the most salacious smirk Pacifica had ever seen. They say the devil was in the details, but it was obvious by the way they looked at each other, that someone’s heart was about to get shredded down to its last atom.

Sure they recognized each other from school, but it wasn’t like Pacifica knew this girl’s name, even though she definitely knew Pacifica's. What was in a name? In Northwest there was power, influence. But there was power in anonymity as well. Influence too abstract to name and too unknowable to not be wary of.

The internal discussion of power structures promptly exited Pacifica’s head when she felt lips meet hers. Eyes still wide from shock, his mouth moved on its own according, bobbing and weaving to adjust to its companion. She-who-was-unnamed pulled away. Her jovial brown eyes met Pacifica’s shell shocked blues. They both giggled a little, intoxicated by the wealth of body to explore. Leaning in for a second round, Pacifica made sure to close her eyes this time.

It must have been mere minutes but it felt like the two of them had made out for a lifetime. Mouth to mouth, hands buried in hair, the blonde was nearing sensory overload, but she loved it. But just like that, it was over. Her lover had just been making her way down Pacifica’s neck when the mother of the host unexpectedly came home and kicked them out under the threat of calling the cops.

Somehow, Pacifica didn’t mind that she was forced to leave. She probably looked ridiculous. Nearly moved to tears, and an uncontrollable grin on her face, Pacifica made her way to her car. How could one be mad about anything after a first kiss? And as far as first kisses go, hers wasn’t too shabby. Within the safety of her own car, all bets were off. The most joyous laugh erupted from her mouth. Looking in the mirror, her face was cherry red and it was starting to hurt a little to smile. Paired with her green tips, Pacifica reminded herself of Christmas, which only made the girl laugh harder. It sure felt like the holiday had come early for her.

If only she could have 12 days of Christmas instead of three.

For the version of Pacifica that lived in the Tuesday after Memorial Day, her day had started out fine. A barrage of criticism fell out of mother’s mouth the moment her daughter walked down the stairs, but that was typical. Pacifica just responded with noncommittal remarks and left to go to school.

The day truly had started great. Around third period, Pacifica received an unfamiliar Instagram DM. She had a fair amount of followers, so she wasn’t hard to track down on social media. Upon further investigation, it was from the paramour with whom she locked lips, evenings prior. Accompanied with the words “Wanna do it again ;)” was a post from another account Pacifica didn’t realize. She tapped on the picture. It was a panoramic shot of the backyard the night of the party. Beer and circuses littered the frame, but in the background of the shot, the two girls could be seen, wrapped in a passionate and steamy kiss. Another unfortunate side-effect of her iconicness, there was no mistaking that it was Pacifica Northwest that was kissing another girl.

The blonde had felt bile rise in her throat, but swallowed it down. She went to the person’s account, and felt even more dread at the realization that it was a public account, and even more trepidation at the discovery that this person had also posted it on their Facebook and fucking tagged Pacifica in the picture. At that point in history, Facebook was archaic knowledge to a high-schooler. But to a high-schooler’s overbearing and emotionally manipulative parents, Facebook was a gold mine.

She wondered if other parents set up alerts for their kids’ names. If the words “Pacifica Northwest” appeared anywhere on the internet, her parents would know about it seconds later. She waited for the incoming barrage of messages and calls, but it didn’t come. It never did. Pacifica spent the rest of the school day constantly on the edge of clawing out of her own skin.

And with that, her mind caught up with the present moment. Driving up to the front gates of her house, she waited for the security guard to see her car and open the gates, but it never came. For a moment, Pacifica forgot her anguish and slipped back into her old snottiness, lamenting the unprofessionalism of her family’s staff.

  
She climbed out of her car and approached the PIN pad on the outside wall, looking to code open the gates herself. She typed in the code. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nada. The code had been the same for as long as she could remember, and typing it in had become automatic for her. 1-9-3-7. 1-9-3-7. 1937. Her typing grew more frantic, and the feeling of dread returned to her stomach. Suddenly, the front door on her family’s mansion slammed and a handbell sounded, forcing Pacifica to freeze in fear. She looked up from her place at the gate, and observed her parents sternly looming towards her. The sight alone caused her to finally vomit in sheer terror. Hands on knees, the blonde tried desperately to catch her breath, but when she finally began to right herself again, a cruel hand to her right cheek smacked her right back down.

Sad to say, the slap felt different that usual: more powerful and hard. Pacifica touched her fingers to her cheek. They pulled away crimson and she could see more drops of blood falling onto her shoes and the surrounding earth. She glanced up ever so slightly. Her mother’s hand hung by her side, the giant rock of her engagement ring stained red with Pacifica’s blood. Her own mother had ripped open her own daughter’s face.

Pacifica just had to wear white that day.

The bell still consistently rang from the direction of her father, and that paired with the shock and pain of the gash in her cheek, caused Pacifica to collapse to the ground in the fetal position, sobbing hysterically. Through the blur of tears, she could see some of her blonde hair that had fallen on her face. The tips were drenched in her own blood and vomit.

“How could you, Pacifica,” her mother said. Her tone was steely and definitive. For a long moment the only sound in the world was the bell.

“You forfeited the right to be a Northwest the second you started associating with...the commoners.” Her mother practically spat the word like she was tasting the most bitter coffee in the world.

The bell stopped. A car door opened, then closed. Footsteps retreated back into their fortress. What was once Pacifica Northwest’s fortress, but now belonged to two people that refused to know her. The blonde had no sense for how long she laid on the ground, practically catatonic.

Through it all, one thought pervaded her mind; The callousness of her father astounded her. Once, he was the man all too eager to show Pacifica the ropes of the family business as well as the legacy she carried. Once, she considered herself a daddy’s girl. Well, as much of a daddy’s girl one could be with a man who was, at best, always an arm’s length away, and at worst, actively harming her mentally and physically. Now, he didn’t say a word as his wife cast their daughter out of his house. Pacifica didn’t even get to see his face. He had replaced it with that fucking bell.

The sun had begun to set when Pacifica finally pulled herself to her feet. Just as suspected, when she glanced into the cabin of her car, the keys were gone from the ignition. She caught a glimpse of herself in the side view mirror. The open wound on her face had stopped pouring blood, but was still a thick, angry maroon. Her hair, as well as the collar of her white linen top were stained with it as well as her throw-up. Mascara left black streak lines down to the base of her neck. She looked and felt like detritus. But, she supposed, that matched her present situation.

The blonde turned towards the house. All the curtains were drawn over the windows, not that that was a new sight. In her mind, the house had never looked inviting, but until now, she had never seen it look so outright menacing. It was time for her to leave.

If there was one thread like silver lining, it was the promise of a safe space. Pacifica retrieved a bicycle from a bush just outside the property line. In some way, she knew her relationship with her parents would end like this. She just always hoped that she would be the one to terminate it, not be the one thrown away. Her shoes were completely wrong for peddling so she just kicked them off. Starting slow and shaky, a rhythm slowly built. Faster and faster, the air stinging her cheek, the person formerly known as Pacifica Northwest made her way to the Mystery Shack.

Over the years since their first fateful Summer, and ever since Pacifica herself had mellowed, her and the Pines twins had struck up a friendship. Tentative at first, the blonde spent a lot of time repenting. Years later, she still felt the temptation to confess her sins at the altar of Dipper and Mabel. They wouldn’t be in Gravity Falls for roughly another two weeks, but had promised her a place at the shack, even in their absence.

The three of them had grown close. Pacifica considered the two of them to be her best friends, perhaps at times even more. At one point, she had felt the beginnings of a crush on Dipper, but quickly realized she was forcing herself to feel something just because he was a boy. The romantic notion quickly fizzled out, and she and Dipper only strengthened their friendship from then on.

Then there was Mabel. She was the first twin, as well as the first person period, to accept Pacifica’s attempts to reform herself. Whereas Dipper had been snide and guarded, due to his protectiveness to his sister, Mabel accepted her with open arms, which Pacifica eagerly fell into.

As far as she could remember, Mabel had always been open about her sexuality. Despite being at one time boy-crazy, the other girl spoke freely about her attraction to all people. Her friend’s confidence helped Pacifica come to terms with her own feelings, in general, as well as the ones developing for the second twin. At first, she was afraid that her feelings were a side-effect of Mabel’s willingness to accept her as a friend. Pacifica soon realized that that wasn’t it though.

Mabel was funny, and smart, and charming, and gorgeous, and most of all so authentic. How could Pacifica not fall in love. There were times, like the brush of a hand or a completely platonic under the shirt back massage, where Pacifica let her heart and mind go wild in thought of reciprocated feelings. Unfortunately however, she wasn’t the only one snared by Mabel’s wiles. Grenda, who had also once been boy-crazy, did what Pacifica never could. She just straight up asked Mabel out, and now the two of them had been dating for almost a year.

Pacifica had dreamed that school years away would do one of two things:

1\. That distance doesn’t actually make the heart grow fonder and that it would cause Mabel and Grenda to break up.  
2\. That distance doesn’t actually make the heart grow fonder and it would allow Pacifica to get over her feelings.

Neither happened.

The cyclone of feelings and hormones never stopped for her, and in her daze, Pacifica just barely grazed the side of the Mystery Shack’s golf cart. She had arrived.

Despite her friendship with the twins, Pacifica still wasn’t sure where she stood with Stan. Although Mabel had told her many times to call him Grunkle, the blonde still didn’t feel comfortable with that. She was pretty sure he would let her stay the night, but not positive. There was only one way to find out: to knock.

And so she did. Standing on the front porch, she could hear rustling and muffled expletives coming from inside. The door swung open, and Stan Pines stared down at her with an unamused expression. He was in a white tank and his underwear, beer in hand. The man looked completely pissed to be shaken from his evening routine.

Nonetheless, he stepped aside, indicating for her to enter.

“Sit down,” he said. Pacifica sat herself at the kitchen table while Stan disappeared, quickly reappearing with a damp cloth and first aid kit.

“Who did this to you?” The man wiped the blood off her face and neck. It stained nearly the entire rag. When she failed to answer his question, he grunted as a way to say “very well”.

He then began disinfecting and stitching up the wound. The former Northwest wondered where he had learned to do these things.

It was as if Stan read her mind, “After the first Summer those kids came to visit, it was clear how much of a handful they would be. So before they came to visit again, I took a first aid course. But don’t tell anybody,” his voice was gravely and completely unlike Pacifica’s father’s, “I don’t want people to think ole’ Stan Pines has gone soft.

They spent a few more moments in silence. Pacifica was so numb, she barely reacted to the needle breaching her skin.  
“Good as new,” the man said, patting her shoulder.

“Thank you,” and without another word, Pacifica made her way up the stairs to the attic bedroom. Some of the twin’s stuff was still there, and it was a welcome sanctuary from the hours she had just spent lying on the ground. In fact, it had been a welcome sanctuary from everything else for quite some time.

It was then when the blonde realized that she was beyond exhausted. She considered lying down in the bed on Mabel’s side of the room, but decided that that would just be too much for her at the moment. She came to the same conclusion about possibly changing out of her blood stained clothes and into one of Mabel’s sweaters. Even if her life (and her face) hadn’t just been ripped open, it would still be far too much.

Instead, she collapsed onto the bed reserved for Dipper. With almost no effort, Pacifica “No Longer A” Northwest fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the way I've written this non-linearly is kind of confusing, but I promise that if it is, this tale will be told straight for the vast majority of the rest of the chapters. 
> 
> I love hearing from you guys, so don't be afraid to leave me kudos and comments and stuff!
> 
> Give my tumblr a look: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Check out the playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=oDgynC72RcO0NtZvRQ7HeQ
> 
> I really wish I could add annotate playlists on Spotify so I can give more background into how I think the songs reflect the story. I might post another "fic" on my page that is actually just a chapter by chapter companion about the playlist. I also recognize that that could come off as really narcissistic as well, but I think I would like to go as in detail with this story as possible. Let me know if that's something you would want.
> 
> Also check out my other fic if you're interested in spies and Carmilla and stuff.


	2. The Legionnaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew this chapter would be long, but oops, I slipped and spilled words everywhere. 
> 
> I went back and updated the first chapter, but here's some other stuff. 
> 
> I'm making a companion playlist to this fic. Every chapter will have five songs that correspond to it. The first song I just couldn't not include, but after that 2-6 are for chapter 1, 7-11 for chapter 2 and so on. 
> 
> Here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=llnHFvIPSzKBSISw0qpAAw
> 
> If you guys are interested, I might make another 'fic' on my page that really is just notes on why I picked the songs I did. i can't annotate a playlist on Spotify, otherwise I'd do it there. 
> 
> Here's also a link to my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> I'm not on there A TON, but enough. I'd love to here from you guys on there. If you have any questions of comments, my asks are open. 
> 
> And now, on with chapter 2.
> 
> Updated 5/24/20: added a small scene at the end of Sunday, plus a couple grammar and stylistic things.

The next two and a half weeks went by like molasses. Slow, bitter, and with the mounting heat, everything felt thicker, from the growing swarms of mosquitoes to the sheets she slept under to the weight that rested on Pacifica’s shoulders. Her arrival at the Mystery Shack didn’t really seem to have much of an impact on it’s established cohorts. The fact that she showed up in the early evening, bloody and broken was treated as a nonevent. For as little as she had to be glad for, she found it in herself to be glad that her presence was no cause for alarm. Pacifica knew that eventually the normalcy would break. She knew that it would have to.

Was Pacifica happy with the slow passage of time? The short answer was no. It would be easier for her to forget this period of her life if it moved in the blink of an eye. The slowness of it all just gave her more time to stew. The long answer? No, but. She was grateful for a little time to settle. The blonde knew that the second the twins arrived, that the situation would change. For one thing, there was only so much room in the shack, and with the added interloper, she worried if Stan could fit another person in, let alone afford it.

She also knew that Mabel would probably break her open within a sentence of touching down in Gravity Falls. It wouldn’t be pretty.

So with all this in mind, Pacifica “Not Really A” Northwest sat on the rocking chair of the Mystery Shack’s front porch and watched the days go by.

**Wednesday**

She reawoke in a familiar bed in an acutely familiar attic bedroom. It was the early afternoon. A glass of water that hadn’t been there when she fell asleep now sat neatly on a coaster on the bedside table. She downed it, not even caring to note that it was obvious to her that it was from the tap. Back at Northwest Manor, it was Perrier or nothing. Pacifica, however, upon noticing the glass, had realized how extremely parched she was. If given the chance, the blonde would have chugged swamp water for all she cared.

She set the glass down. The dehydration headache that had been building start to recede, giving her a clearer mind. And in that clear mind, all the events and implications of the day before returned. The mental invasion immediately sapped any strength that was left reserved.

A weak sigh made its way past pink lips, where remnants of deep red lipstick remained. The rest of it was smudged on the pillow, but she couldn’t care less. So what if she woke up with old makeup smeared on her face. All the blonde wanted to do was sleep. So, Pacifica rolled over under the covers and allowed herself to once again fade away.

**Thursday**

Pacifica glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly one in the morning, but she hadn’t eaten in a day and a half. She rummaged through Stan Pines’ fridge. It had always been obvious that the man didn’t exactly eat well, but still. The state of affairs was ridiculous. Though the appliance itself looked bombed out and packed to the brim, she found most of the containers empty. Save for a case of beer, and case of soda, bacon, and some butter, there were no items of notable substance.

Suddenly, the overhead kitchen light turned on, and Pacifica froze like a wild animal. She had caught sight of herself in a hallway mirror. The crustiness of days old mascara made her look like a raccoon. Still, Stan Pines stared into her soul, a tired, yet amused expression on his stubbly face.

“What are you doing up?” the man rasped. Pacifica felt that it was fairly obvious given their location, but she still didn’t ease up. A cagey nature had been struck into her long before it delivered a knock-out only days prior.

“I’m hungry.” Pacifica’s words practically bled out of her. The amount of emotion in her was becoming more and more difficult to keep in check. The blonde swallowed a mouthful of cotton and challenged, “What are you doing up?”

“I could hear your hunger all the way from the attic. Plus,” his wry smile widened into a bigger grin, “You really stomp around, kid. Give my stairs a break.” At that, Pacifica’s beam-like stare was finally broken, and her face turned ruby red. Stan took the opportunity to walk towards her. He ruffled her golden locks, which were already a damn mess, and went around her to the fridge.

“Sit,” he said, rummaging through his simultaneously barren and hoarder-esque refrigerator. Pacifica did as she was told. Stan pulled out the bacon and the butter, and retrieved two slices of bread from a loaf on the counter. He then pulled a frying pan out from the bottom of a cabinet. The other pots and pans crashed loudly as the ground was yanked out from under them. The sound made Pacifica wince. Most loud noises made the girl wince.

The man had noticed her involuntary reaction, “Sorry, kid. Usually I’m the only one here this time of year. I can be as loud as I want.”

“It’s fine,” which was true. His action itself was fine, but Pacifica still needed to put her head in her hands to stop the onslaught of headache and tears.

The stove clicked on. The sandwich sizzled in the pan. The pan scraped against the burner as Stan shook it around. Otherwise, the meal was prepared in silence. Pacifica knew that if her mental state was to be salvaged and rebuilt, she would have to open up to someone eventually. Of people that knew her well and who Pacifica also trusted, Stan was the most impartial of them all. Maybe someday they could talk, but that wasn’t a talk for today.

A bacon sandwich appeared on a paper towel. Without thinking, Pacifica snatched it up and nearly choked trying to shove the thing in her mouth. It wasn’t...great. The bread hadn’t really crisped up and instead sagged as it absorbed more and more butter and bacon fat, but it was certainly more than edible.

The sandwich was quickly finished. Pacifica gingerly wiped her greasy fingers on the corner of the paper towel. She noticed that the plaid tablecloth was covered in a myriad of stains and realized that even the way she wiped her hands was far too posh for that household. It was one habit that Pacifica wasn’t exactly keen on breaking. She took a moment to gaze down at her hands. The rust of dried blood still left words on the knuckles of her right hand. A thought crossed her mind. Sure the blood on her hands and her face and her clothes was dry NOW, but it hadn’t been when she first plunged into bed. She feared that maybe she had left blood stains on what were actually Dipper’s covers. She knew he definitely wouldn’t care; in fact he’d probably be completely understanding. Still, Pacifica folded that note into the exploding file cabinet that was her mind. Just one more thing to worry about.

“Stan do you have acetone,” she asked. She had been burning holes through the back of her hand and it hadn’t slipped her attention that her usual white pristine nail polish had started to chip. It too was tinged red.

“Kid, if it’s a caustic chemical, you ask, we got it,” he yawned and stretched, moving to get up, “But it’ll have to wait till morning.” He left her sitting there, staring at her hands. The things these hands had and hadn’t seen. She wondered if they had any idea of where to start picking up the pieces.

**Friday**

“So dood, is there like, anything you really miss from your old li- OW! Wendy dood, that hurt.” Soos rubbed his ribs where Wendy had violently elbowed him. The look on her face said that she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

It was the first time since arriving at the Mystery Shack that Pacifica had spent any meaningful time outside the attic bedroom. Obviously, it was wonderful that Stan allowed her to stay, so every moment there was meaningful to her. It was time for her to come out of hibernation, though.

Two hours ago she hadn’t had the strength to watch the days old blood go down the shower drain. The hot water felt like a cleansing fire, but it nonetheless still stung her healing face wound. Pacifica let it sting. Even though it felt bad, it let her know that she could still feel something. The pain made her cry, brought her to her knees under the light torrent of water. She sobbed, and loudly. She didn’t care if anyone else heard, and knowing the shack had poor insulation, it was likely that people could hear.

She cried because of her parents. She cried for her parents. She cried for the material possessions she lost, for the experiences she would never have, for the memories that were now forever tainted even further, but most of all, Pacifica cried because she knew that the Pacifica that existed three days ago was gone forever. It was terrifying, but maybe that Pacifica never existed. All her sorrow mixed with a few tears of relief. There was no new Pacifica. She had always been there. The real her was there on Memorial Day. Whenever she could sneak away for even a moment with the Pines’ twins, Pacifica was herself. She was just hiding inside lead armor that sunk to the very bottom of the pool the moment she stepped in.

The schism hurt like hell. It would be painful for a long time, most likely the rest of her life. A large part of her wanted to take it all back, beg her parents for forgiveness, and resign herself to a lie filled existence, forcing herself to find out if money really could buy happiness.

But Pacifica Northwest got on her knees for no one.

Her sadness quickly receded to reveal resolute rage. How dare her parents rip away her birthright? Try as they might, blood was unchangeable, and they WERE her family. Pacifica wondered if they thought about her anymore, if they even thought about her as she watched them retreat into the castle as she lay bleeding in the dirt. Her blood had consecrated the ground, baptized it. The grounds of her family’s ancestral home were now awash with her. No amount of rain could wash that away, nor could it wash the invisible black soot that permeated every crack in the building’s foundation. Maybe someday people would see the Northwests for as disturbed as they really were. They would see the gleaming beacon of American wealth turn its face to show that it was more of a coal mine.

Did that make Pacifica the canary? Well, not really. That would imply that her...departure...signified the beginning of the end of an era for Gravity Falls. But not even a Northwest had the power to dethrone another Northwest, no matter how dried up the blood between them was.

Cold water snapped Pacifica’s attention and prevented her from sinking further down into her ire. She had always loathed her parents. Now they had just given her more reason to. Nonetheless, time had strayed away from her and the chill signaled that it was time to move on.

She stepped out of the shower and crossed the small bathroom to the mirror. The face that stared back certainly looked like Pacifica. Gunmetal blue eyes stared back at her, less light than ever. She traced her nose. Her mother once called it "‘perfectly Roman, but imperfect in every other way.” There was always talk of rhinoplasty, but they never got around to it. Considering any talk whatsoever was over, it seemed as though the nose had won its right to stay upon its perch. Secretly, Pacifica had always liked her nose. She liked the way it gave her face a deeper sense of depth and detail. Her eyes roamed the rest of her. The skin in front of her was a rare glimpse at a makeup free heiress, sharp angles and all, no contour required. Her face finally bare, freckles remained in all the places she remembered. Summer was fast approaching, meaning an increased smattering across her nose was soon to appear.

Pacifica’s hair still had tints of green at the tips from where it was marked by the chlorine. Even more interestingly though, were the tawny roots peaking through the manufactured gold. Curious fingers ran through it, as if they had forgotten the feel of what hair was really like. She had been dyeing her hair for as long as she could remember; it was certainly the time to make a change. Maybe if and or when she finally felt like leaving the house, she would again dye it, but to match her natural caramel locks.

The face looking back at her was her own, but the person inside was a different Pacifica Northwest. She watched her own eyes flick left and right across the mirror. That was enough pondering for now. There was plenty of time for more later.

She had thrown out the clothes she arrived in. Dipper’s clothes were a little big, but the cotton felt welcome against her sensitive skin. The blonde made her way downstairs, taking note that, yeah, she kinda did stomp around.

So she found herself in the nearly empty gift shop of the Mystery Shack, being interrogated by Soos and Wendy.

“What my friend means to say,” Wendy glanced at the large man, still nursing his wound, “is that we know you’re going through a tough time. We’re here to talk to you.”

Pacifica wasn’t stupid. She had known these people in some capacity for practically her entire life. They were obviously sincere. Their motivations, however, were not always 100% above board. Stan had roped Soos into many a scheme, she was sure of it. Wendy...probably hadn’t needed any convincing whatsoever.

Knowing all this, Pacifica still carried on the conversation. She didn’t really care that Stan probably told them she was staying here. The truth would spread around eventually.

“I mean yeah, of course I miss it. I love that there’s a bedroom in the attic of this house. My room was on the top floor of the east wing of the house. It overlooked the forest. A view of just miles and miles of trees. I loved watching flocks of birds just suddenly erupt from seemingly nowhere. The bedroom here has a similar view.”

“I see,” Wendy answered. A sly look crossed her face, but it went completely unnoticed by Pacifica, whose brain had apparently opened the flood gates to her mouth.

“Like I mean yeah I’ve always hated my parents, but can I really call them my parents now? I’m worried that if I got my old life back, it wouldn’t be the same, which it wouldn’t. I would be oppressed even more than before and either I’d end up being kicked out again within the month, or doomed to live out an incredibly bleak existence. Except now,” her voice was rising in volume, speed, and pitch until it turned into a gravely screech, "I practically don’t have any life to speak of. I’ve been stripped of my home, my car, my family, my reputation. Who am I? Pacifica Northwest? Maybe legally, but I might as well start going by she-who-must-not-be-paid-any-mind-to. I’ve become a ghost!” Pacifica finally closed her mouth, eyes wild. She was breathing extremely heavily, but slowly, her senses returned. Soos and Wendy were standing stock-still, gaping at her like they just witnessed an atomic bomb go off.

“Did- did you mention a car?”

Soos’ question threw the blonde for such a loop that it served as a fantastic distraction.

“Yeah, actually. I do have a car.”

Stan materialized next to Wendy at the mention of something monetarily valuable, “What kind of car?”

Pacifica wasn’t really a car person, but she could appreciate a nice ride. She wasn’t really sure how the conversation had derailed on that specific detail, but she supposed a mundane talk like this could be good for her, “Yeah it’s a custom Beemer. Convertible, white, tan leather seats. It was a gift when I got my driver’s license.”

The look of a pensive career criminal appears on Stan’s face, “And it is, your car? Like it’s registered as yours?”

“...yes.”

“Ok,” and with that Stan once again disappeared into the ether. Wendy and Soos looked at one another with a resolute nod and walked off. Pacifica was left to stare awkwardly with the gift shop customers who had probably overheard the entire conversation.

It wouldn’t surprise her if she was tomorrow's top story of the Gossiper. Hopefully they’d choose a flattering picture.

**Saturday**

Pacifica had gotten into the habit of waking up around noon, so when she was awoken at the abhorrent hour of 11:30 by the buzzing of her phone, it was not a welcome intrusion. In the old days, Pacifica woke up every morning to a deluge of notifications. Instagram, Twitter, texts, all of it. Everyone wanted a piece of Pacifica Northwest. The steady stream had begun to dry up, most likely due to both her parents’ likely influence over the town and its inhabitants, as well as her total disappearance from social media.

This morning, there was only one: a text from Mabel Pines.

Mabel <3: Hey can you walk Waddles? I can tell Grunkle Stan doesn't >:( 

The blonde stared at it for a long moment. The two of them texted more days than not, as she did with Dipper as well. They were friends after all. Mostly it was just neutral information about their days, or something that had happened at school. Sometimes Mabel would tell her something Grenda sent her or said, or how much she missed her long-distance girlfriend. Those messages were hard to read. They forced Pacifica to take a walk to avoid saying something regretful and ruin a friendship she so highly valued and had worked so hard to cultivate.

Was this Mabel’s way of acknowledging that she knew what happened to Pacifica? She thought so, because if it truly was solely about walking the pig, Mabel wouldn’t have waited until now to ask her. Pacifica appreciated the restraint. There would be plenty of time to talk about it when the twins finally arrived in Gravity Falls. Before she could forget, Pacifica typed out a quick ‘sure’ and rolled out of bed.

She found Waddles outside. He was making a lunch out of some random garbage in the yard. Upon her approach, he got up and began chewing on the leg of her basketball shorts, which in truth were Dipper’s. The destruction of property amused her, and she fondly patted the pig’s back. Pacifica walked the path into the woods surrounding the shack and Waddles dutifully followed her.

It grew cooler the deeper in they got. Pines grew thick and cast long, animated shadows over the mossy ground. Every once in a while, a small green pixie would quickly zoom across her vision. The gentle rustle of gnomes making their presence known soothed her as Pacifica allowed herself to slip into a meditative state. Mysticism was a simple fact in Gravity Falls. The presence of the supernatural would usually freak a person out, but it was a comfort to Pacifica. No matter how mundane or malevolent a creature might be, the fact that there were some things beyond man's understanding that made life more interesting.

The girl wondered if Waddles had any hidden properties that had yet to make herself known. The pig trotted beside her, occasionally snuffling at a felled tree of a mysteriously glowing mushroom. She scratched his head, and he in turn affectionately leaned into her touch. 

To take a walk through the woods with a friend was a luxury Pacifica was rarely afforded before. She had to savor moments like this while she still could.

**Sunday**

Tomorrow was Monday, meaning she had to go back to school. Sure, she didn’t **HAVE** to. Pacifica had skipped school the previous three days and had gotten no grief for it. Stan hadn’t mentioned anything, and considering how long he’d been living in Gravity Falls, she was sure that he was probably aware of their schedule.

Still, next week was finals, and Pacifica wasn’t about to suddenly flunk out of her junior year. If she was going to retain one modicum of respect, becoming a high school drop out as well as a familial one wasn’t the way to go about that. Besides, the school psychologist had once told her that she was a “leader within the student body”, whatever the hell that meant. It would be unfair to withhold a queen from her subjects. She was lucky that even in her old life, she knew these exams would be a breeze and a half. To have testing anxiety also hanging off her shoulders at this time? That would just be a killer.

Was that the strategy for the following week? She was certain that the news of Icarus’ fall had reached her peers. Could she ice herself over while also having no possessions to gather frost in the first place? The empress had clothes, they just obviously belonged to a teenage boy. Although, no matter how widespread the internal dead rot was, the ability to rise above it and still be a bitch might almost be admirable. Yes, Pacifica decided; _that_ would be the strategy.

Now, although mellowed, it would be incorrect to say Pacifica had reformed into a saint. She had outgrown ostentatiously flaunting her wealth as well as bullying specific people, but Pacifica’s reputation had carried her far enough as it was. It would be foolish to get off that train now. Ruthlessly ambitious with a cold snap to match, the former heiress wasn’t afraid to lay into someone. The difference now was now she needed a reason to raise hell. She figured that a complete uprooting of life as she knew it was enough of a cause to ice the damn place over.

Pacifica Northwest the Ice Princess, as she lives and breathes.

There was still a slight problem of logistics. She had nothing, not even a pencil to take the final exams in. She didn’t have a way to get to school, and considering Stan had already placed a roof over her head, she had no plans of also asking him to chauffeur her to and from class.

The blonde fell back onto the bed, letting out a big sigh in the process. She had been agonizing about this for the better part of the day. She’d woken up earlier than usual to take the pig for a walk through the woods. It was overcast and a little cooler than it had been, so one of Dipper’s overshirts had been necessary. His clothes fit somewhat awkwardly on her slim frame. They were obviously made for a boy, but even now at 17, Pacifica stood at around six feet. Dipper and his twin were both about three inches shorter than her, so his t-shirts were more like crop tops on her.

It was kind of nice, wearing his clothes, even though they were ill-fitting. She felt like she could be Dipper’s girlfriend, and she could be wearing her boyfriend’s clothes as a gesture of romance and loyalty. In the boy’s clothes, she wasn’t Pacifica Northwest, disgraced heiress. She could be Just Pacifica, Dipper’s Girlfriend. Did the need for such escapism make her a little sick to her stomach? Well, yeah, but maybe it was more about how if she wanted to be Dipper’s girlfriend, she might still have a place at her parent’s table.

There was a time, when they were all younger, but not too long ago, that Pacifica thought she might have been catching feelings for the male Pines twin. She eventually realized that what she was actually feeling was genuine friendship for the first time in her entire life, which was...sad...but not unwelcome. It was soured slightly when Mabel made her discover what a crush _really_ felt like.

Her crush on Mabel. Still lying on the bed, Pacifica put her hands over her face and screamed into them. She couldn’t blame her crush on Mabel for her situation. It wasn’t like Mabel was the cause for her discovery of her own sexuality. She had feelings for girls long before she had even met the Pines. This whole mess was completely her own doing. If she’d only been more careful with her heart that night in the pool. But what’s done is done. Pacifica kissed a girl and her parents found out. Thus, she was reclassified as a brand-new Mystery Shack interloper.

Before she could agonize any further, a car came screeching down the street. The driver was completely laying on the horn, and after a few seconds, she heard the unmistakable sound of someone driving off the road and coasting into the dirt. It got louder and louder before coming to a stop right below her window.

“What the fuck,” Pacifica said to herself, jumping out of bed and crossing to the window in two long strides. The view outside was a mess of mud and torn up grass, but laying in the center of it, was a miracle. Soos and Wendy waved and called out to her from the front seat of **her** car. In a flash, Pacifica bolted down the attic steps and was out the back door fast enough to make Usain Bolt jealous.

There she stood, aghast. Wendy and Soos stared back at her.

“Wha-ha-HOW?”

Wendy chuckled, climbing out of the passenger side. She fished around for something in the back seat. A duffle bag, stuffed near to bursting, was thrown into Pacifica’s arms. She caught it, but the sheer weight of the bag caused her to stumble.

“Well most people leave their keys in a little dish by the front door, as is the case at Northwest Manor. What they don’t know, is that when someone breaks into your house, if they see the keys, they’ll just grab them and abscond with the car.” Pacifica stared at the red head in awe that she and Soos had managed to break into her old house. Wendy stared intently back, a smug look on her face. A beat passed between them.

“Nevertheless the car wasn’t all we went for,” Soos chimed in, “We snuck into your room and basically frantically shoved stuff into that bag. We got your laptop, some clothes, some makeup, random knick knacks. It was totally awesome, dood.” He laughed, but the kind gesture had settled in Pacifica’s chest and it overwhelmed her. She sunk to her knees and clutched the duffle for dear life, sobs wracking her body. The two proud burglars, now looking horrified, rushed her and gathered the blonde into their arms. Pacifica felt a set of keys being slipped into the pocket of her shorts and what felt like her school bag was placed over her shoulders.

“It’s ok, little dood,” Soos soothed.

“Yeah. You don’t have to get through this alone, and you will get through this.” Wendy rubbed her back. These things that the two of them had collected took on new meaning for her. Objects which she had previously seen as no more than expendable possessions, felt weighty in their symbolism. Two people that Pacifica really didn’t know very well, but would now greatly like to befriend, had risked going to jail, as well as their reputation, by breaking into the home of the richest and most influential family in town.

“Were you caught,” she blubbered out from behind the tears.

Wendy and Soos looked sharply at each other, then released a huge belly laugh,”Hell no, dood,” they said in unison. Pacifica managed to sniffle out a smile in response.

She thanks them profusely, but they shooed all the praise away, instead urging her to unearth what was inside the duffle bag. Again, in record breaking speed, Pacifica raced up to the attic bedroom. First, she slipped the bag off her back and inspected its contents. There was all her school work and supplies, unchanged from the day she was ejected from the Northwest residence. The blonde gave a stern nod. This would do nicely for her coming exams.

Next, the duffle. As stated, after rifling through some clothes, some makeup, and her laptop, a surprise greeted Pacifica. The two hooligans had grabbed her golf trophies. Going all the way back to when she was just a tyke up to her current year in school, there were all kinds of awards. Hole-in-one trophies. Lowest score trophies. If it was a commendation relating to golf, you name it, Pacifica had earned it. She had been on Gravity Falls High’s school team since freshman year, and had been made captain this year, her junior. She was the star player, consistently ranked state-wide as well as nationally. It was one of the few things in Pacifica’s life that she was truly proud of, and that she felt she did solely for her own enjoyment. Of course it hurt that her parents never came to any of her tournaments, but how sorry for herself could she be once she hit perfect drive after perfect drive.

She clutched the trophies to her chest and felt herself once again to tear up. As if she had just won the Claret Jug, Pacifica placed a peck to the top of each award before placing them on a shelf of honor above the bed where they could be admired by all. Another reason to appear strong at school tomorrow. She wasn’t about to be perceived as weak in front of her golf teammates. One of them might get some...ideas.

Then even under the trophies at the very bottom of the bag, sat two smaller bags containing Pacifica’s two most prized possessions. She pulled out the loves of her life, two camera bags. One contained a DSLR, Pacifica’s lesser of the two, but more practical for her position as photo editor for the school newspaper AND yearbook. When at school, it was impossible to find Pacifica without the camera. She photographed every possible school matter, and loved doing it. The free entry into all school event was merely a side perk in her eyes. She turned her attention to the other bag. The other, Pacifica’s soulmate, was a traditional film camera. She had always been a talented and passionate photographer, but the first time freshman Pacifica had stepped foot into a dark room, it was like the time stopped, and when it restarted, the Earth was realigned on its axis. She frantically rummaged through the bag and was relieved to find none of the film canisters compromised. The two cameras as well as her laptop were placed on the desk under the window. They would be put to work soon. Photography would be good for her right now. It always had been.

She took stock of her possessions. It was still only a fraction of what the old Pacifica owned, but stripped down to her bare necessities, it was all she needed.

The tears had stopped flowing and were soon replaced by an uncontrollable giddy laughter. There was only one order of business left: ask Stan where she could set up a dark room. He probably already had the chemicals after all…

Later that evening, Pacifica went for a leisurely joyride in her repossessed car. The town looked as it always had, but with the road laid out in front of her, she gave real thought to just skipping it across the water like a stone. Her wheels could just kick up a cloud and when the dust cleared, no trace of Pacifica Northwest would be left. The setting sun cast warm shadows onto the street. It was discomforting proof that everything had a dark side, tangible or visible or not. The blonde became mesmerized by the way the shadows creeped ever closer the more the sun set. They licked at her motorized heals and caressed the axles of her beemer. The sky was falling over Gravity Falls and hot hell bubbled under the asphalt of memorized winding streets. The darkness was soon going to eat her alive. As if in a trance, Pacifica changed course to head out of town, determined to fight it off just a little longer.

Just as the blonde was making a beeline for the road to the interstate, she very characteristically took a turn too short and her back wheel smacked the curb. Something thumped, rough and distinct in the trunk of her car. The sound snapped the girl out of her fugue state and a small smirk crept its way onto her face. She hit curbs often, thus making the sound in question so familiar she couldn’t even count the number of times she had heard it, nor feel the need to investigate its source.

The large heavy bag of clubs were still where she left them, rattling around in the trunk of her car. Realization sunk its fangs an inch under sensitive skin. She had a legacy to protect. Pacifica Northwest wasn’t about to let someone usurp her place as the star athlete (and star in general) of Gravity Falls High. She especially wasn’t going to let it happen by default, just because she had chosen to run from her problems. 

Sure, staying in town would make it more difficult to avoid her woes, but even if she wasn’t running from them, she and her problems could play hide and seek. Pacifica was in no place to face them down after all. Not yet. 

So, with the continued clatter of clubs keeping her out of the recesses of her own psyche, Pacifica once again changed course, this time to the port of the Mystery Shack. Maybe she could scrape up a fortune of sorts there.

**Monday**

The moment Pacifica stepped out of her car and onto the school parking lot, she could feel all eyes were on her. Sure, usually it was because she was the queen bee and was rocking an absolutely banging outfit, which since some of her clothes had been returned to her, she now could once again, but this time was different. This time the fear in their eyes was not generalized. She whipped her face to the left to glare at a group of whispering onlookers, and they cowered under her look, even though it was disguised behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. She adjusted the camera strap around her neck and just reveled in the notoriety.

Heat grew in her chest. People just could not look away and they weren’t talking as quietly as they thought they were. She was lucky finals days were shorter, because a full session of this treatment would have ended poorly.

Later in the day, Pacifica leaned against a wall in between classes, just observing people observe her. She had really been craving a bag of chips but she didn’t carry cash. In fact, she had no money to speak of whatsoever. She had checked: accounts had been drained and cards had been cancelled. For the first time in her life, Pacifica was straight broke. Her shitty situation just kept getting worse. She just wished everyone would stop whispering so loud.

Lucky for her, finals meant quiet, so she didn’t have to endure whispers while she was trying to take a test.

From her place against the wall, the empress observed the worker bees. A younger girl, most likely a freshman, timidly approached the blonde. The girl looked nervous, as anyone should be when approaching a god.

“H-hi, Pacifica.” Pacifica’s sunglasses unfeelingly bored into the other girl’s soul. Pacifica had elected to leave them on the entire day, which was technically a dress code violation. Her teachers, however, looked equally as terrified of tripping a nerve as the students did, and did nothing to even broach the issue with her. How this girl even mustered up the courage to talk to her, Pacifica didn’t know, but kind of admired her for. The blonde made a rolling hand gesture, indicating for the freshman to continue.

“Well, I, uh, I uh just wanted to know-”

“Out with it.” It was the first time Pacifica had spoken all day, and maybe she had yelled a little louder than intended. All noise and movement in the hall stopped, all energy turning to focus on the two women. Some people had even pulled phones out to record the confrontation, probably hoping for it to get physical.

“ **ISITTRUEYOUKISSEDAGIRLWHICHLEDTOYOUGETTINGTHROWNOUTOFTHEHOUSE?!?!** ”

Some people gasped. The air in the space sat in dead shock. Now, this was the question Pacifica was expecting. The manner of delivery? Not so much. But with a sudden sly smirk, Pacifica regained control of the situation.

“Yeah,” she replied, the smile leaking into her tone of voice. She laid it on thick. The aura of a sultry seductress overtook her as she stepped off the wall and into the freshman’s personal space.

“Why, you want a taste?” And with those five words, the hall erupted into chaos. Both Pacifica and this random girl getting dragged into the fray. People whooped, cheered, whistled, and clapped Pacifica on the back and ruffled her hair. Her genuine laughter accompanied the symphony of praise. Fist bumps abound, the former rich girl found herself transcending to a new level of popularity.

Sure, she was still mean and brash, but now, Pacifica Northwest was a certified badass. Now that was a title she would hold onto.

**Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday**

After she basically outed herself on Monday, the next three days passed without incident. The gossip surrounding her cinematic fall from grace was replaced with laments about finals grades and discussions of Summer plans.

Sure, Pacifica would have to go to some golf training sessions, as well as photography meetings with the rest of the newspaper and yearbook staff, but the majority of her plans had already been made up, and they were arriving on Sunday.

Yearbooks had been distributed, and the blonde exchanged signatures with many of her peers. Lots of their messages to her were about golf or them complimenting her photography work, and she had done a great job, if she could in fact say so herself. One autograph, however, stood out.

It was from that freshman girl who had caused such a scene just a few days ago. It seemed like she had actively sought the other girl out. Pacifica didn’t even know this girl’s name, so her own message couldn’t be much more than:

“H.A.G.S. -Pacifica Northwest.”

But when she received her own yearbook back, a much more meaningful sentiment was waiting for her. It read:

“Pacifica-I know I kind of came at you on Monday, and for that, I’m sorry. I’m really glad you’re a lesbian, even though you did get kicked out of the house. You’re such a beacon in this school and the fact that you’re gay too makes me feel less weird about it. You should consider joining the GSA next year. You’d probably help a lot more people than you’d expect. Anyway, H.A.G.S”

 _Well shit._ Pacifica didn’t even know the school _had_ a GSA despite the fact that she had probably taken their group photo for the yearbook. Still, she’d definitely consider the call to arms.

Fucking H.A.G.S. was right.

**Friday (Again)**

That evening, Pacifica settled in the kitchen of the Mystery Shack and flipped through her yearbook. Besides just admiring her handiwork, she read the messages until she could recite them from memory. Her finger traced over and over the unknown girl’s message. She could easily look her up by face between the pages of the book, but for now choose to keep it a mystery. She would find out soon enough anyway. Gravity Falls High’s GSA better be ready for a senior year Pacifica because she would be coming in hot.

Silver lining were coming more often, and only would increase further in the coming weeks, but Pacifica was still sad. She’d be sad for a long time. Her life had been ripped to shreds. All the few scraps she could hang onto were sitting in the attic bedroom of the shack, a house she was all too aware wasn’t hers. The newly dubbed senior picked at a hangnail. She had been coasting, not completely allowing the truths of the matter to sink in. Of course she’d cried about it a number of times, but right now it felt more like an extended sleepover with the Pines family than it did a paradigm shift. Cracks were showing, and it would only take one slip up to exploit her true weakness. The real fear came from the unknown. Pacifica had no-way of knowing when her mind, still stuck in the stars, would catch up with her body, already six feet under.

The hangnail was ripped out, taking a bit of skin with it. A light sting and a bead of blood sprung up. Pacifica stuck the offending digit in her mouth to quell the pain. Stan sat down across from her and stared her down with a blank expression. Pacifica furrowed her eyebrows and matched his gaze, neither challenger giving up any ground to the other.

“What,” the girl finally asked, speaking around the finger still in her mouth.

Stan shifted forward, leaning his chin heavily on a his left fist, “You can’t stay here-”

Panic struck her and tears spring as the corner of her widening blue eyes, “ _Grunkle Stan please-_ ”

“Jesus Pacifica. Calm down. I was going to say you can’t stay here rent free forever.”

“I have no money anymore…”

“ _Yeah._ _I know_. You’re going to earn your place in this household by working for me.”

“Oh...I don’t really have any sales experience.” Pacifica had no job experience period. She had never been strapped for cash before, so what was the point?

Stan regarded her sternly. Pacifica was uncomfortable under his gaze. She felt that he was annoyed that she wasn’t picking up the point he was laying down.

“This isn’t a job interview. You want to stay here, then you work. Your dad runs some kind of business, right?”

The girl wasn’t expecting the conversation to drift to her parents. He knew she had no sway with them anymore right?

“Yeah he does…”

“Then you probably absorbed a fair amount of business knowledge through osmosis, right?”

She was starting to get the picture, “Yeah, I did,” she replied more confidently, finally removing her hand from her mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time, but I want to add a restaurant to the Shack. I think it’ll really maximize profits. Nothing huge, just burgers and dogs. I’m not made of money, right, kid?” He laughed and slapped his knee, also effectively smacking the side of the table. Stan wince, and shook his hand out before going on, “I want you to handle that.”

Pacifica looked at him dumbfounded.

“Ya know, set it up. Buy supplies, hire people, cook food, whatever.”

That cleared up nothing for her.

“You’d get a budget for the restaurant, and as well as room and board...we could negotiate a small monthly personal stipend…”

Money. Now Stan was speaking her language, “It’s this or I get kicked out?”

“...Yes.”

“So be it. I will make you a shack food shack if it means I'll have a roof over my head.”

“Good choice kid, some hard work will do you good,” he replied, “But seriously,” his large, calloused hands reached over to squeeze Pacifica’s petite ones, “I want to help you out of this slump.”

And with that, Stan got up, rounded the table to ruffle her hair, (which was becoming a recurrence the girl wasn't sure she was fond of) belched loudly, and meandered his way into the living room, leaving Pacifica to process the conversation in the dim light of the kitchen.

Stan obviously wanted her to make something bigger than herself. Pacifica had never really contemplated what she wanted her legacy to be, considering it had already been laid out centuries before her birth. Even now, just the mere inkling of a thought tickled the back of her brain. Deep down, Pacifica wanted to be something.

She wanted the name ‘Northwest’ to mean something.

**Saturday (Again)**

Pacifica once again crawled out of bed around noon. She rounded up Waddles to go for a walk in the woods. Three eyes fish splashed in the stream. A bird that sounded like a freight train flew swiftly overhead.

Today was for relaxing and quiet reflection. Come tomorrow, the real start of her Summer calendar kicked off, and once that started, there would be little time for rest.

That night, when Pacifica finally drifted into sleep, she dreamt herself walking through a forest of thick, brilliantly green pines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to leave kudos and comments! I love hearing from you guys.
> 
> Check out the playlist, or my tumblr, or both even!
> 
> I'm shooting for roughly a week and a half at most between this chapter and the next one. The next chapter of my Carmilla fic will probably come around then too, if you're following that.


	3. Playing the Hits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dream sequence at the start of this chapter was inspired by this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R16cVvg2OyY
> 
> Not that I'm expecting anyone to call me out on it, but I am aware that historically speaking, because she's a woman, Pacifica would carry the title of "Dame" and not "Sir", which was/is reserved for men. Like I said, I'm aware of this and chose "Sir" on purpose, but I don't think the place to get into it is in an author's note. Basically, it has to do with my thoughts on modern audiences, women specifically, reading historical literature and which characters they relate to more, but like I said, here isn't the place to discuss that. 
> 
> If you DO want to talk about it, which I WOULD LOVE, you can either message me on here, or on my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob 
> 
> Here's an updated version of my companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=G6L2C-KhQGaRGp6vDJVPtg
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter, don't be afraid to comment of kudos, I love hearing from you guys.

Pacifica had always been intrigued by myths and legends. From Freyja to Venus to Aphrodite, she was practically a walking encyclopedia on the subject. When she was 13, the girl had discovered the show Merlin, and immediately developed a fascination with Arthurian legend. She read as much of the Matter of Britain as possible, and still held onto that wonder to the present day. An unforeseen side-effect to this interest was that ever since, Pacifica’s dreams had gotten...more elaborate.

Heavy steel armor sat securely around Sir Pacifica of the House of Northwest, who herself sat atop a perfectly white horse. The rough leather of the horse’s rein rested comfortably in her right hand. The hand reverently caressed a tree branch, then came back to rest on the hilt of a mighty sword as the knight and steed continued trotting on the worn forest path. 

It was mid-afternoon, but the thick brush of the woods sheltered them from the sun. It was cool among the trees, but still a little humid. A drop of condensation fell and plopped onto the tip of Pacifica’s nose, causing her to blink in surprise. The horse underneath still ambling blissfully further into the trees. 

They had been traveling for awhile. A light breeze kicked up and Pacifica’s deep purple cape fluttered behind her. Gradually the trees began to thin out, and the knight’s destination became visible. The forest fell away, and there in the clearing ahead, stood Northwest Castle, surrounded by a moat and large fields of pastel wildflowers. 

The castle itself stood mighty and imposing. Walls made of dark gray stone towered above, and royal tapestries and flags matching Pacifica’s cape dotted its exterior, each complete with the Northwest family crest. The mighty knight, wary and homesick from far flung quest after lengthy journey, finally brought her horse to a stop just a little ways away from the moat. The drawbridge remained drawn, and Sir Pacifica began to grow antsy and all the more tired. But, before she could read too much into the reason her familial home mysteriously remained shuttered to its only heir, she noticed someone appear above the battlements of the nearest tower. She waved and called out to them. Instead of answering, the figure made a swift movement that was indistinguishable to Pacifica due to the distance between them. Although it looked like just a tiny rip in an otherwise cloudless blue sky, an object grew closer, and the heroine soon found herself staring down the shaft of an arrow. She had no time to react, and the head of the arrow met its mark, piercing her through the cheek, right below her right eye. 

The force knocked the strength out of her, as well as throwing her off the horse. Pacifica fell hard onto her back, limbs splayed amongst the wildflowers. All she could do was stare up into the heavens as the life leaked out of her face. She heard her horse winnie, then gallop away, most likely spooked from the sudden movement. The sound of hooves was soon replaced by an ever growing ringing in her ears. The edges of Pacifica’s vision began to fuzz, and what felt like millions of little fingers erupted from the ground, dragging the fallen hero down, deep into the earth.

Despite all this, a small voice nagged at the back of her brain, reassuring Pacifica that it was not yet her time. Like emerging from a fog, the blonde was beginning to be pulled out of her slumber. The fingers, however, did not cease.

“God Paz you’re so tense,” whispered an acutely familiar voice. As Pacifica continued to gain more consciousness, she noticed that a human-sized weight sat at the base of her spine, accompanying the hands still working out the knots in her back. UNDER the shirt, she might add. 

“I mean, you’ve always been a tense person, but this is like a whole other level.” The mysterious hands became more pronounced in their administrations. Heels dug into knots that had been nestled into her back for years. The increase in pressure actually kind of hurt, but it was in a way that she knew they were doing good. Still, the fact that even in sleep she could not ease up was fairly troubling. It was painful, but the hands were still under her shirt, caressing bare skin, so maybe it was a net neutral. 

“Mabel…” Pacifica weakly groaned, mouth still full of pillow. The hands disappeared, to which “Paz” whined in response. The brunette on top of her apparently had no intentions of stopping, however, as Mabel’s elbow came into sudden contact with a knot right at the base of Pacifica’s neck. The sleepy blonde writhed slightly under hand. 

“Crap. I’m sorry, Paz. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Mabel responded. She affectionately smoothed down the hair on the back of Pacifica’s head. This was all well and good, and it was kind of turning her on to be honest, but the blonde still hadn’t gotten a good look, or any look whatsoever, at her newly returned friend. Pacifica shifted her face so that she was lying with her left cheek against the bed, instead of nearly suffocating herself into the pillow. It wasn’t like she could see any better, as the room was still covered in darkness due to the early morning hour.

At the sight of her friend’s wound, Mabel gasped and Pacifica felt her tense up above her. It was then that the blonde licked her chapped lips and tasted blood that she realized what had caused the adverse reaction. 

Mabel signed and reached to lightly caress the open cut on Pacifica’s face. She sighed, “Pacifica you ripped your stitches,” and continued to prod the wound, which in turn caused the other girl to hiss slightly in pain, “but it doesn’t seem like it’s bleeding right now.” 

“I don’t want to get up,” Pacifica said. She still hadn’t completely woken up and the fact that the brunette still hadn’t gotten up off her back had the effect of a weighted blanket. She began drifting back into unconsciousness. Mabel sighed again above her, but resumed her ministrations into the blonde’s tightly wound back muscles. 

“I’ll just...patch it up in the morning...just go back to sleep.” 

“Mabel, when I die,” the former heiress was hardly aware that her speech was starting to slur, making her sound completely undignified as well as near impossible to understand, “Or really, while I’m _dying_ I want you to take me, and I want you to lay me down in a field of wildflowers.” She sniffed before continuing, “Then I can die.”

“...uh…what…?”

“Wildflowers,” and with that final breathed out word, Pacifica was once again sent into a deep sleep. 

Sometime later, maybe minutes Pacifica reawoke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. The weight had lifted off her back, but evidence that Mabel had in fact been there remained. Luggage and a couple articles of clothes were strewn around the room. The most damning piece, though, was her male counterpart sleeping in the bed opposite Pacifica. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 9:30, incredibly early for her of late. Still, the blonde was feeling more awake than ever. 

Without even thinking, she zipped across the room and dive-bombed the sleeping boy.

“DIPPER,” she shrieked as the two bodies made contact. Dipper instantly snapped awake, but it was too late

“Fu-,” was all he had time to get out. 

Perhaps she went in with too much force and too shallow an angle. Instead of just landing on top of her friend, Pacifica ended up shoving him hard into the wall with a resounding thud. They both groaned and rubbed where their foreheads knocked against one another’s. After a moment, tired blue eyes met frantic brown ones, and the two friends burst out into peels of joyous laughter. Pacifica tackled Dipper onto the bed once again, enveloping him into a bear hug. Tears had begun to creep into her vision; that was something she was expecting, but still nowhere near ready to deal with. So, she chose to focus on the boy struggling beneath her. She loosened her strength for a split second, but it was enough for Dipper. A second later, the blonde found herself with her ass planted firmly on the hardwood floor of the attic bedroom. 

The two regarded each other. The last time they had seen one another was the previous August on the day the twins returned to Piedmont. She had gone with Stan to drive them to the bus station to say goodbye. She and Dipper had exchanged an awkward, yet friendly hug, but Mabel had nearly crushed her ribs. Tears had invaded her eyes then too. 

Dipper looked pretty much the same. Still gangly with a shy smile, his hair fell down to the bottom of his ears and a beard had started sprouting. Pacifica was glad he wasn’t trying to grow a mustache to match it. 

She wondered if written on her face was how much she had been aged within the span of two weeks. When she looked in the mirror herself, it didn’t seem like much had changed, though it was difficult to see the cut on her cheek and all it stood for. The cut on her cheek. Pacifica’s eyes widened and a guilty look crossed her face. 

“I got blood on your sheets,” she blurted out.

Dipper looked a little taken aback but her declaration, “Oh...uh...that’s ok. It’s not a...girl thing is it?” 

Pacifica’s look instantly morphed into an incredulous one as she jabbed a stern finger at her face. 

This gesture apparently didn’t clear anything up for the boy, “What about your bandage…?” This response surprised the blonde, who brushed fingers across her cheek, feeling smoothness where before the skin had felt angry and swollen. Still on the floor, she crawled to sit in front of the room’s floor mirror. Overnight, a bandage had appeared where just hours before there was just open blood. She carefully peeled away a corner, wincing as the adhesive pulled at her sensitive skin. Fresh sutures too. How she missed that was a mystery, although the blonde had been sleeping deeper than she ever had in Northwest Manor. 

A thump sounded as Dipper sat himself on the floor next to her. They stared at her wound together. This time, Pacifica couldn’t hide the tears that started to fall. Dipper’s face began to go red. Pacifica couldn’t tear her eyes away, but the boy had to finally look away, his own eyes getting misty to match his friend’s. Without speaking, he scootched close enough that their arms touched, and brought his hand to the side of Pacifica’s head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder. 

Soft sobs wracked the girl’s lithe frame as she curled further into the sturdy shoulder of the boy she considered her best friend. All he could do right now was offer comfort. A soothing hand rubbed her back and Pacifica felt a couple tears fall onto the crown of her head, which only made her own cries come on stronger. 

“Did Stan tell you what happened?”

Dipper shook his head. The blonde locks under his cheek began to ruffle, “Not really. He said that you didn’t actually tell him, but he found out **_A_ **story due to town gossip.” Pacifica swallowed a growing lump in her throat, anticipating that she was about to relive the events in question for the umpteenth time. Dipper continued, “I think he told Mabel a little more than me, but all I know is that you showed up here one night two weeks ago with a huge gash in your cheek, and haven’t left since.” The boy had always been fairly aware and in control of his emotions, but now he began to really get choked up, “I mean,” a shuddering breath came, “Pacifica.” It was strange to hear one of the twins use her full name. They had grown so familiar, so close, that the word just sounded like a mistaken identity coming from him. 

“Pacifica, _what happened?_ ” The eternal question, finally voiced into existence. She took a couple deep breaths through her nose in preparation. This was going to be the first time the blonde actually talked through her excommunication from the Northwest family with another person. 

“Honest to god, Dipper, there isn’t much to say.” This was true, in a way. Although it played out in high definition and living color within her mind, it was really just a matter of simple cause and effect. 

“Tell me, _please._ You’ll feel better once you open up.” 

Old habits die hard. She was raised to never show weakness, but if she was going to get strong, she had to swallow that down, “So I went to a Memorial Day party. I made out with a girl at said party, my first kiss, by the way. A picture of the kiss gets leaked online a couple days later. That morning I left home the heiress to this town’s largest fortune, and came home a pariah. I didn’t even get into the house before I was cast out of it.” It was the simple timeline of events, but he was right. She did feel a little better. She was no longer carrying this burden on her own. She had a capable set of shoulders holding up the other end. 

Nonetheless, “What aren’t you telling me.” Pacifica was smart; she knew it. But nothing got past DIpper. Knowing she’d been caught in a lie of omission, she took one last glance at herself in the mirror; her roots were starting to show even more prominently now. A decision about them had to be made soon, but perhaps it wasn’t the most imperative thing right now. Pacifica pushed herself off the ground and slowly walked to look out the attic window, arms crossed over her chest, too guilty and insecure to continue looking at Dipper.

“Somewhere at ho-,” she cut herself off before clearing her throat and continuing, “At _Northwest Manor_ there is my mother’s engagement ring covered in my blood.”

“What?” Apparently _some_ things slipped by him, Pacifica guessed. She would just have to lay it down straight up. She sucked her teeth and contemplated how to tell the plain truth. 

“Paz?” Dipper crossed the room to her, spinning the blonde so they were once again facing each other. Pacifica forced herself to look into his worried eyes. She begged him to discern the truth from her baby blues. She begged herself to open up to him. One more deep breath. 

“So the kiss pic was released the day after Memorial Day, yeah? I was totally expecting some kind of altercation when I got home after school. And I’d been hit by my parents before, so I was prepared for that too.” At that statement, Dipper swallowed thickly. Pacifica knew that it was hard for him to hear, even though he already knew that the girl often sustained mental and physical abuse at the hands of her parents.

She began crying again. It was getting harder to speak, “But this time, practically the second I got home, my mother backhanded me across the face and the diamond in her ring ripped open my face,” tears were flowing freely now and Pacifica began to retreat into herself, “They had always been so careful not to leave marks, right? Because of how obsessed with physical beauty they are, but this time, I know it. She did that on purpose, she purposely left a huge angry mark and told me in no uncertain terms that I am no longer part of the Northwest family.” Anger began to slip into her tone, “You hear me Dipper? My own mother forcefully and permanently altered her own daughter’s appearance to mark her as an outcast. Who am I DIpper?!” She beat her fists against his chest, but was quickly gathered up into his strong arms. All strength was replaced with sorrow as she finally finished retelling the story of her fall from grace. 

More time passed between them, silent except for Pacifica’s light sobs. 

“I need to tell Mabel this,” Pacifica finally said, breaking the shaky peace and breaking away from Dipper in favor of pacing around the small room. She made sure not to stomp around. The boy sat on his bed. He inspected the sheets. Pacifica glanced over; she _had_ gotten blood on them, presumably from when her stitches broke in the night. Dipper didn’t react to his bed being compromised and just watched the way Pacifica moved. 

“Later.” 

“No, I want to tell her now.” 

“She’s not here right now.” That stopped the blonde in her tracks and she turned to stare down her companion. Dipper sensed correctly that she wanted him to go on, “She met Grenda for breakfast at Greasy’s. She might come back after that, but I figure they’ll probably do something after.” 

Pacifica’s eyes stared daggers into Dipper. It wasn’t fair for her to get upset with him over that; he was only the messenger. And yet, “Oh really?” Her tone was clipped. 

“Yes really. Is that a problem?” He was just baiting her now and the blonde knew it. She wasn’t about to fall for that. 

“No, why would it be,” she countered, resuming her pacing.

“Pacifica, I know you-.” Pacifica practically broke the sound barrier with how quickly she whipped around and rounded on him. Even though she was taller than him, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the girl still wore Dipper’s clothes, so how imposing could she really make herself. Despite having her own property returned, there was safety in his clothes. His belongings, like the boy himself, radiated warmth and friendship. There were memories in her things. For now, she was choosing to barely think at all, much less remember anything from her past.

“Mason…” If he could use her full name, she could throw it back at him. Now, obviously Dipper knew about her feelings towards his twin. He was the first person she came out to, in a fit of tears, while also apologizing for not being able to develop a crush on the boy. She never outright stated her feelings for Mabel, but the boy knew both Pacifica and his own twin well enough to recognize what was going on. That still didn’t mean that she was ready to admit it. The blonde once again glanced at the bedside clock: 11:30. She was getting hungry.

“Paz?”

Lips drawn into a tight line, she finally answered him, “It doesn’t matter.” They stared each other down once more, “Do you want to eat?”

The abrupt change of topic wasn’t lost on Dipper, but after a heavy beat, he allowed it to happen, “Fine. Hermanos Bros’?”

“Let’s do it. I’ll drive. You pay.”

So there they found themselves on opposite sides of a cracked red leather booth, a mountain of loaded tacos piled high in the middle of the table. 

Pacifica was practically swallowing them whole, taco shell and all. She didn’t realize how hungry she actually was. She hadn’t exactly been eating much recently. Dipper looked upon her ravenousness with shocked awe. She supposed it was shocking for him to see someone traditionally so prim and proper to be broken down into only their primal urges. Gulping down yet another tortilla, the blonde sucked sauce off her thumb before finally rubbing her hands into a napkin. Her companion tentatively reached for a taco, but hesitated out of fear of being pounced upon. 

She laughed at this, “Go ahead.” The food disappeared into Dipper’s mouth before Pacifica had the chance to change her mind. The level of heat made him cough slightly and bits of lettuce and tomato sprayed onto the table’s surface. 

“How can you eat that without blinking,” he said, mouth still full of food, “I feel like I’m eating a nuclear reactor.” 

Pacifica shrugged in response, “That’s just how I like it.” The boy across from her finally swallowed, face cherry red. It was time for the heiress’ powers of persuasion to come out. Not that she thought this would be hard, she wasn’t exactly proposing something life changing to Dipper. Nonetheless, she didn’t want to force him into it. Pacifica examined her nails. They were bare of polish but once again tinged red, this time from an abundance of hot sauce. 

“So Dipper, you’re going to be working at the shack this Summer, correct,” she asked, trying to keep her tone as casual as possible. Still, after years of spending time around the residents of Gravity Falls, Pacifica figured that Dipper could sense a scheme from a mile away. What she was _actually_ banking on, was the fact that _she_ was the one asking. 

“...yeah…,” he drawled, just as suspicious as she expected him to be.

The blonde steepled her fingers on the table and level Dipper with a look that said serious business, “As you know, I have recently been experiencing some...financial hardship…” She felt like her father, perfectly mimicking the man’s cadence and professional jargon. Pacifica was her father’s daughter after all, or at least she could try her best to do an impression of whatever that meant. 

“I have recently been approached with an interesting business proposal and I just wanted to share the details in case you might be interested in joining in.” It was obvious the run-around wasn’t working on him. Dipper stared at her, lips pursed and a skeptical expression on his face. 

“Fine,” she finally conceded, dropping her shoulders, “Stan wants me to make, like, a snack stand at the Mystery Shack to make money in exchange for staying at the shack.” 

“Oh come on Paz, I don’t think he’d actually kick you out-”

“I’m not about to take that chance,” she snapped, cutting him off, “I don’t exactly have any other options.” She sighed rested her chin on a balled fist, “Besides, maybe I could make something of myself.” 

Dipper sheepishly removed his cap and rubbed the back of his head, “Geez, Paz, I think you’re something-” 

She cut him off again, “I’m not in the mood for a pep talk, not now, not ever. Just, will you be my second in this endeavor or not?”

“Sure.” 

Pacifica clapped her hands together, a huge smile erupting on her face, “Great, so I’m your boss now. Later this week we really have to get started on this because the sooner I make money, the sooner I can feel human again.” She didn’t even give him a second to respond to _that_ line before turning the situation yet again. She stood up from the booth, “Shall we?” The boy shot her a concerned look, but chose to let it go for now. He simply threw a couple bills on the table and followed his friend out the door. 

They were driving back to the shack. Pacifica’s eyes were locked on the road, jaw clenched along with the rest of her body. 

“Pacifica? Can I ask a question?” She didn’t like the tone of his voice. It was starting to slip into the condescending territory. She also hated the way Dipper lazily stared at the side of her face, as if he was just waiting for it to break open. 

“No,” she forced out through gritted teeth. The girl still refused to look at her friend, citing the road as a good enough excuse.

He did anyway, “How did you get this car back? In fact,” he reached across the center console to tug on the sleeve of Pacifica’s blouse she had changed into, an item of clothing that was actually hers, “how did you get any of your stuff back?”

“Soos and Wendy stole it for me.” 

“Oh they _stole_ it for you. Of _course_ they did. What, like Robin Hood?”

“Dipper…” 

Still he persisted, “Pacifica, how does this car make you feel? Does it make you feel powerful? Does it make you feel like you are _worth something_?”

“Stop. You don’t know what it was like.”

“That’s because you won’t tell anyone. What’s it like, Pacifica? Does having this car, these things, give you a power trip?”

“It makes me feel normal.” She was very quickly nearing the end of her fuse. It was obvious Dipper was yet again trying to goad her into spilling emotion onto the dashboard of the beemer, but this time, he was getting away with it. 

“ _You were never normal, and neither were your parents._ Normal people don’t descend from the founder of a town. Normal people don’t live on huge grand estates emblazoned with their own name like they’re at risk of forgetting it.” 

“Dipper, seriously stop,” she pleaded, but he wasn’t relenting. They finally pulled up in front of the Mystery Shack. The two of them were now just arguing in a parked car in full view of anyone who might be nearby. She should have just opened the door and walked away. 

“Normal people don’t get their faces ripped open by their mothers and then act like nothing happened.” As soon as he said it, Dipper’s eyes went wide and he clamped his hands over his mouth, in horror. Pacifica stared at him in silence. He shrunk under her gaze. A beat passed, then another. 

“Dipper, two weeks ago I lost my life,” she was trying very hard not to cry again. She was trying very hard to channel the Pacifica of days past, the one with a stone heart. It wasn’t working very well, “You couldn’t even give yourself a day to settle in, greet your old friends, like me, before you had to go and investigate.” Her chin wobbled slightly, “I am _in grief._ ” Energy spent, she slumped against the leather seat, left hand lightly tracing the inside door handle. 

Dipper finally dropped his hands from his face, “I’m sorry. I-we’re just worried about you.”

“I know. I’m worried too. I just...I just don’t know anymore.” 

“How could anyone?” 

Just then, an old red pickup truck pulled up a little ways away from where Pacifica and Dipper were stationed in the beemer. The windows were rolled down and she recognized the driver to be Grenda. Pacifica watched as Mabel bounded around the front of the truck to the driver’s side. Dipper watched Pacifica. Her face gave away nothing, she was too exhausted to react in any meaningful way.

As much as she wanted to, Pacifica couldn’t look away when Mabel leaned up on her toes and gave her girlfriend a good-bye kiss. Was this how Prometheus felt getting his liver ripped out day after day? How many times could she lose her heart in a two week span? At least the titan brought fire to man. Pacifica was a titan once, but what good did she do? For most of her life, she was simply content to lord her enormous wealth over those less fortunate. She was more a pompous child than a deity one could worship.

Flames had once burned bright inside her. Then she fell in a pool. 

Dipper winced for Pacifica when Mabel kissed Grenda. “I hate PDA,” he muttered from Pacifica’s right. A small smirk made its way onto her face, but making eye contact with herself in the rearview, she saw all the nothingness that was there behind her eyes. 

Mabel waved to her girlfriend as she reversed the truck back onto the street. Her chocolate brown hair floated behind her as a slight breeze kicked up. Dipper and Pacifica continued to just watch from the car. Even after Mabel had gone inside the shack, the blonde still wasn’t ready to follow her in. 

“Are you going to tell her?” 

“God no. I’m a lot of things, but a homewrecker is not one of them.” 

“Wha-no. I meant are you going to tell her what happened to you.” The situation wasn’t funny, but he still nervously chuckled at the misunderstanding. 

“Oh,” a little bit of red appeared on pale skin, “Yeah. I’m just getting up the courage.” 

Dipper rubbed her shoulder, “You told me.” 

“She’s different,” Pacifica replied, a faraway look in her eye. 

He nodded in understanding, “Yeah, she is.” 

The blonde drew in a heaving breath. “Ok let’s go,” she finally said. They exited the car and made their way into the shack. Stan and Mabel were catching up in the kitchen. 

When the two of them entered, Mabel looked up, and upon recognizing her, launched herself off the kitchen chair and engulfed Pacifica in a typical Mabel-style hug that the blonde was forced to return. 

“PAZ! I’m so glad you’re here. I was just telling Grunkle Stan a really funny joke Grenda told me this morning.” 

“Actually Mabel,” Stan said, getting up from the table. He began exiting the shack, dragging Dipper with him, “Dipper and I have to go...get something...from...the store. Bye.” The two boys were gone before either Pacifica or Mabel could react. The former heiress wasn’t sure whether to bless Stan’s perceptiveness or curse it. Mabel finally released her from the bear hug. Pacifica felt fingers lightly graze the bandage on her face. 

“How does it feel?” 

The blonde, completely caught up in being lovingly touched, almost missed the question all together. Her mind knew that the brunette was just a naturally tactile and affectionate person. Her heart wasn’t quite on the same page. Mabel’s expectant face, however, snapped her out of her reverie. 

“Fine. Thank you. Um...can we...talk?” 

“It’s probably time for that isn’t it?” Mabel let her fingers fall from Pacifica’s face, instead letting them thread together with the other girl’s. The blonde almost drew away, fearing a curse of clammy hands, but knew Mabel would put up too much of a fight over it. Instead, she allowed herself to be led onto the couch in the shack’s den. 

Mabel patted her lap, “Lay down.” Pacifica did as she was told, as she was trained to do. Their closeness was almost too much to bear, but if Pacifica was going to relive the tale _again_ she might as well be comfortable. Those same deft hands rubbed soothing circles on her back, once again electing to go under the shirt. Pacifica knew that Mabel knew that it was intimate. The problem was in their different interpretations of the word. 

The blonde swallowed down years of declarations of love, “Mabel do you want to dye my hair?” 

The brunette above her gave out an excited gasp, “Um...yes??!! Do you have a color picked out?” 

“Yeah. Mine.” 

“What, like your roots? Ugh Paz you’re going to look so pretty with darker hair. Not that you’re not stunningly gorgeous now,” red once again erupted on Pacifica’s face as Mabel yammered on, “But you know what I mean. I-.” She cut herself off before changing her tone to be more neutral, “I hope you didn’t just want to talk about makeovers…”

Pacifica’s arm hung off the couch to brush the beige shag carpeting of the Mystery Shack’s den. It almost matched her roots, which were now being excitedly examined by Mabel’s fingers. 

“No...it’s not.” A long stream of air blew out a distinctly Roman nose. 

Ready to once again weave the tale she began, “Our story begins with one hell of a Memorial Day bash…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, like, I know that one part seems like heavy-handed foreshadowing that Pacifica is going to die in this story, but I can assure you NO ONE IS DYING ON MY WATCH. 
> 
> I love hearing from you guys so leave kudos and your thoughts in the comments. 
> 
> My tumblr and the playlist that goes along with this piece are linked in the notes at the top of this chapter.
> 
> I'd imagine the next part will be up in roughly a week and a half, but we'll see. 
> 
> If you're into Carmilla, feel free to check out my other fic!


	4. Make It Cry, Burn It, and Let It Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game called "What's referenced in the title of this chapter?" 
> 
> Anyway, this took longer to write than I anticipated. I am just...tired. 
> 
> I don't know how many people were actually following this, but I deleted the companion playlist I made for this piece.  
> 1\. Because I...kinda just don't feel like doing that anymore.  
> 2\. Because even though work on this specific chapter was slow going, I continuously am writing down notes for future chapters and stuff and it became apparent to me that this fic is going to be really long (like, really, really long) which would make the playlist practically endless at which point it's practically unlistenable. 
> 
> Anyway, here't the chapter, posted at a normal time of day for once, hope you like it, don't be afraid to reach out to me.
> 
> Update 6/20: Call me indecisive or whatever, but I'm bringing back the playlist, just with two songs per chapter instead of friggin five. I hope y'all like Arcade Fire because rn that's what I'm into and Everything Now was a big inspiration for this fic in the first place.
> 
> Here’s the link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=yIl9PL1kSk2VGrrkVdI4kQ

“Oh darling, you must try this brioche, don’t you think it would be wonderful paired with a nice _Moët_?” The blonde lovingly shoved another piece of bread into Dipper’s mouth. 

“Remind me why I agreed to this,” he said, batting her hand away as it made yet another beeline for his mouth. 

“If I remember correctly _you_ were the one proposed to _me._ ” Pacifica placed her hands on her hips and leveled her friend with a playful look. The purveyor of the local bakery they were standing in looked uncomfortable, thinking he was witnessing a real lover’s quarrel. Dipper himself looked completely done with her, but hey. If she was going to spend the day tediously going from store to store getting product samples, she may as well have fun with it. 

“Paz, just tell em’ why we’re really here.”

“Are you saying...the wedding’s off? Can I keep the ring?” Melodrama turned up to 11, she stuck her hand out to be kissed. The ring resting on it was a random one of hers that she plucked out that morning. 

“ _PA-_ **_CIFICA_ **.”

“ _DI-_ **_PPER_ **.” The girl once again glanced at the baker, who was growing more and more skittish at the prospect of a belligerent Pacifica Northwest in their store. 

“Fine,” she turned to the baker before explaining herself, “Obviously you know who I am. There is no wedding.” 

“Did...did you just scam me to try and get free bread?”

“Wha- no. It’s not like I told you there was a wedding. All I said in my email was that I wanted to try some bread for an ‘ongoing event’.” She took a moment to readjust the color block crop-top she was sporting, as well as the over-sized sunglasses perched atop blonde bangs. Partially blonde, she supposed. Tawny dye had been purchased. She had, however, yet to work up the courage to hit the bottle and return to her natural color. Patience in all things, Pacifica thought. Patience in all things. 

The baker looked at her expectantly. Dipper looked at her with impatience, growing more and more tired of her antics. She supposed the anticipation had grown large enough, “I come to you with…a business proposition…” 

“Oh my god. _Pacifica,”_ Dipper snapped, taking the matter into his own hands, “We’re opening up a restaurant-”

“Restaurant is a strong word…,” Pacifica muttered. 

But Dipper streamed on ahead in spite of her, “Pacifica is going to start selling food at the Mystery Shack. I’m her...assistant manager...or something, but we’re here because we’re looking for suppliers. Can’t have burgers without buns.” A long, drawn out sigh escaped the boy’s nose. 

A beat of silence passed between the three of them. Pacifica continued picking at the sample array of breads. 

“Has she done this at every place you’ve visited so far?” The baker gestured towards the blonde. 

“ _Yes._ ” 

Pacifica scoffed at this. They had been at it since around nine that morning, and it was only two in the afternoon. It wasn’t like she was treating the brunette like a workhorse. They had only been to the butcher and the grocer before they arrived at the bakery, and each appointment only lasted an hour each. Ever the hedonist, Pacifica made sure to give them ample time to rest and reflect in between each stop. She was happy to put in the work, but the work had to be done _her_ way. Besides, the girl thought, should all this go well, Dipper had a monetary stake in this venture, should Stan allow her to pay him. In her mind, it wasn’t really an issue of if, but how much. Pacifica was the captain of this ship and Dipper was going to be her first mate whether he liked it or not. 

“ _Anyway_ , I really liked the potato rolls. I think they’ll stand up to the meat really well. Don’t you think, _darling_?” 

“Yeah. Sure,” he replied, rolling his eyes. 

She turned back to the baker, “We’ll be in touch.” And with that, Pacifica turned on her heel and strutted out of the store, pulling Dipper along behind. The signature click of fringed ankle boots made sure that one would never forget the presence of Pacifica Northwest.

“Are you going to keep doing that,” Dipper questioned as the two friends walked back to the beemer. She wasn’t even running, but Pacifica’s long stride made it difficult for simply anyone to keep up with her. She suddenly stopped on a dime, and fluidly swiveled around to face him. 

Her jaw was stone and her eyes flashed like a sword in the sun, poised to strike down at an adversary, “Let me have my fun, would you? I’m under too much stress.” A hand dug itself in semi-blonde locks and the once pristinely styled golden strands were once again offset. The hand stuttered, and a wince of pain flicked across Pacifica’s face. She carefully extracted her hand to reveal several pieces of hair caught up in the rocks of her ring. She smiled wryly and with a humorless laugh, “See, Dipper? I’m literally pulling my hair out?” She gingerly freed the offending locks, sighed, and once again heels clicked ever forward. 

The two once again found themselves seated in the beamer. The key in the ignition, no sound passed between them save the soft rumble of the engine and the consistent bell telling Pacifica that she needed to fasten her seatbelt. 

The blonde sucked her teeth. Eyes flicked side to side surveying the street set out before them. The familiar cobblestones and stores and people faded as a cloud passed in front of the sun. It was a hot June day. Every person in this town knew her, but none of them knew her. How could they if she didn’t even know herself. Pacifica would have to learn to reconcile. One should really learn more appreciation. She at one point not even a month ago held so much status and power that it wasn’t until now that it was apparent that she was drunk, strung out on it. 

Her current situation? Hard. Working was hard, especially if an entire town is walking on eggshells around you. She wondered what the butcher, the baker, hell even the candlestick maker thought. They were probably glad, she figured. A sick satisfaction, like passing by a car crash, unable to look away. 

These days, every morning when Pacifica looked in the mirror, the face staring back got less familiar, but ever more authentic. But it was more fun to walk through life on a sunbeam. It was so much easier to sleep on silk pillows. It was so much better to sleep period. Becoming a moon child added unnecessary shading to her youthful features. It had always been so much easier to play a part. Too bad Pacifica wasn’t interested in theater. 

“Why do you have to be like that,” the boy finally spoke, “You don’t have to be like that.”

Short nails tapped methodically on the gear shift, “Dipper I would give anything to be able to fall in love with you for real. I could get my old life back.”

He turned away. Pacifica watched his reflection in the side-view mirror. Dipper looked angry and confused. 

“Don’t say that.” 

Another roll of the eye and flick of the wrist, “Why,” she sounded incredulous, “It’s the truth. I’ve always been a truth teller. It’s one of my _many wonderful_ qualities. Along with my stunning looks and the fact that I’m a mythic bitch.” Bitingly sarcastic this time. 

This time Dipper was the one to round on her, “You _do_ have wonderful qualities. Yeah you’re fucking gorgeous but that’s not even the half of it. You’re smart, intuitive, hard working, and loyal.” He reached a hand to cover hers over the gear shift, “I think you’re so funny. But most of all? Paz, you _changed_. You’re so self-aware, and you probably see that as a fault right now, but if you weren’t you probably wouldn’t have realized that you weren’t the best version of yourself.”

Tears were beginning to well, “I’m still not.”

“I don’t fucking blame you. I know your home life was, in a word, shitty, but up until now, you’ve been carted around life in a golden chariot. Paz, you don’t have to be ok right away.” He lifted his hand. She raised hers, swiping a nail under her eyes. It’s a good thing she hadn’t really had the energy for heavy make-up as of late. The raccoon look was not ‘in’ that season. 

“You and Mabel are well-adjusted.” Her chuckle was wet with tears, but the fact that she was able to laugh at all was encouraging to both Pacifica and her companion. He playfully shoved her shoulder as a toothy smile spread on his face. 

“The spoon that was in my mouth at birth was made of plastic. You’re currently wearing more gold than my ancestors probably saw in their entire life.” 

“You dork,” she responded while shoving him back, “I’m really glad you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah Paz. Me too.” 

The car once again settled into silence, this time calmer. The beeping finally stopped as Pacifica clicked the seatbelt into place. 

“So you really think potato roll over brioche?”

“Oh absolutely,” she replied, incredulous, “The brioche is too sweet and too pillowy to stand up to the meat. The potato roll? Now that had some substance.”

“Whatever, Paz,” Dipper muttered, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. Pacifica paid his insolence no mind, and instead focused on driving to the next stop on their crawl around Gravity Falls’ finest food distributors.

Later that night, Pacifica found herself half naked, bent over the bathtub in an overcrowded bathroom. There was a lot yelling going on. It was hard to hear anything over the deluge of freezing shower water beating down on her head, forcing Mabel, Dipper, and herself to holler unintelligibly at each other. In nothing but a bra and short shorts, she felt like she was getting hazed, but no. Apparently this is what passed for hair care in the Pines household. 

After what felt like 40 days and 40 nights, the water finally ran clear, and Pacifica scrambled to stand. Eyes wide with water and hair clinging to her neck and chest, she breathed hard and stared at the stunned twins. It did not escape the heiress how while Dipper looked frankly bored, Mabel was in similar straits to herself. She relished how the brunette’s eyes almost imperceptibly flicked down to Pacifica’s chest. The inherent eroticism in wanting something you can’t have: apparently alive and well in both girls. 

Pacifica shouldered past them to get to the bathroom mirror. Getting a good look at herself, with the twins flacking her on either side, the former blonde assessed that it wasn’t _that_ different. 

Dipper apparently felt the same way, “Well it’s not _that_ different is it?”

“Hand me a hair dryer. It just looks the same because my hair is wet.” Said dryer appeared in her hand, and the debutant got to work. She made sure to flex and contort in any way possible in an attempt to get even more of a rise out of Mabel. Despite the hair flying around everywhere, Pacifica was able to make out a gasp emanating from the direction of the other girl. A hot day faded into an even hotter night apparently. 

A moment later, she was satisfied with the level of dryness, and once again stood to admire the dyejob. Golden blonde locks had been magically transformed into a deeper, earthier shade. The new color cascaded down her shoulders in thick waves like the peaks and valleys of a desert. Matching bangs tickled the skin below her eyebrows. 

“I love it.” The three of them released a breath no one realized they were holding. The now former blonde ran excited ringless ringers through the soft strands. Her mouth erupted into a wide smile and her freckled nose crinkled up in laughter. 

“How did I never notice that you have dimples? Girl you need to smile more,” Mabel joked, poking a finger into the side of Pacifica’s face. The Northwest girl laughed harder, letting it overtake her whole body.

She gestured to her head, “Guys focus. Hair? What do we think?” A chorus of compliments followed and more hands were added into the fray. The sandy locks were going to be a right mess when the three of them were through, but for once Pacifica couldn’t care less. This was a win for her; another change for the better. If she could keep having small successes like this one, then hopefully she was on the road to a happier life. If nothing else, the dirty blonde girl had won back an ounce of self-love. It would take a lot more work to make the inside feel as pretty as the outside, but still. Patience in all things, she supposed.

She made eye contact with Mabe through the mirror. Upon being caught staring, the brunette quickly averted her gaze as her cheeks turned rosy. 

“You’re beautiful,” Mabel said, suddenly deeply serious. Her twin nodded soberly in agreement. The three of them continued to stand in contemplative silence, all staring into the mirror to admire Pacifica’s new and improved ‘do. Aside from the hair, Pacifica’s eyes couldn’t help but keep flicking to the bandage that was still sitting below her right eye. Another change was hidden underneath. It would be a while before she was ready to uncover that one, though.

Arms encircled her and the newly-minted dirty blonde was encapsulated in a classic Pines group hug, tearing the girl from her thoughts. The comfortable squeeze forced a few tears to leak down her face, and in an effort to hide them, buried herself into the crook of Mabel’s neck. The brunette smelled of strawberry and eucalyptus. It was a welcome change from the damp woodiness that was signature to Gravity Falls. For a second, Pacifica allowed herself to dream of waking up to sugar-scented locks, to have it linger on a pillow as a gentle reminder of one’s paramour. The ultimate fantasy: the way mundane aspects of a lover weeded their way into everyday life. She could see it now: Pacifica sitting across from Mabel, watching the way the brunette ate with an overhand fork hold. 

The blonde wondered if Grenda appreciated, or even noticed at all, the little things about the female twin. She supposed she must. Mabel wasn’t the kind of person to allow herself to go unappreciated. 

The three of them separated. Pacifica delicately ran a nail under her eyes to catch any stray tears, expertly avoiding smudging her mascara. It was already a mess from her time in the tub, but still: force of habit. She sniffed and smiled watery, once again running her hands through the freshly dyed locks. 

“Is that _really_ your natural hair color,” Dipper questioned. Instead of responding, Pacifica got out her phone, and after a couple minutes of heavy scrolling, passed it around for the twins to see. 

Mabel’s eyes went wide and she squealed, “OMG _Paz._ You were an adorable little baby muffin! How old are you in this picture?” The brunette ripped the phone out of her brother’s hands to examine the picture more closely. The photograph in question was of Pacifica as a young child. She was sitting on a pontoon boat in Lake Gravity Falls in all her baby cheeked glory, a brilliant and missing-toothed smile spread wide across her face. 

“Like, five. And I’m still an adorable little baby muffin,” the blonde deadpanned. Mabel stared at her in awe, looking as though she had just discovered the holy grail. Pacifica began to grow uncomfortable under her gaze. It actually kind of hurt to look at the old picture of herself. Five-year-old Pacifica had no idea the torrent of grief that was going to be bestowed upon her 12 years later. _That_ Pacifica was innocent. The only things she had to lose were her baby teeth. Simpler times, indeed. She could remember the moment the photo was taken. Her father, taking a moment away from his constant business speak, gazed over at his daughter, gave her the biggest grin, and snapped the picture. 

At one point in her life as a Northwest, her parents had shown her at least an iota of positive attention. At least they found her pleasing to look at, but then again, what five-year-old wasn’t cute. Pacifica wouldn’t currently classify herself as cute per se, but maybe dyeing her hair was just a small step in the long journey of the dirty blonde girl reclaiming her own life. 

Reject modernity; embrace tradition, so said the roots of her hair. Something old and something new could come from the same source. Now if only she could get her hands on something borrowed… 

“Your children will be beautiful,” Mabel suddenly blurted out. 

“Oh...uh…”

“Jeez Mabel,” Dipper said, chastising his twin. He wrenched the phone out of Mabel’s hands and handed it back to the blonde, “Can we get out of this bathroom now?”

Pacifica shook her head with vigor as her face returned to its normal shade, “God yes I want to put some clothes on. Ducktective tonight?” 

“Hell yes. I’ll get the corn poppin’.”

June waded on, constantly turning up the heat on the oven of Oregon. Whenever she went out, and whenever anyone managed to work up the courage to talk to her in the first place, Pacifica got complimented on her new hair color. The blonde had no time to chat, however. Stan had given her a hard launch date for the Fourth of July. Between training herself and Dipper, securing supplies, and doing pretty much everything else one must do to open a restaurant, Pacifica barely had time to change the bandage of her still healing face, much less have a heart-to-heart with any townies. 

So when the girl tumbled down the stairs on the morning of July third, the twins knew they needed to step in. The blonde’s body had practically bled onto the floor the moment she plopped down for breakfast. 

“Pacifica, no offense, but the bags under your eyes…”

“Shut up they’re Hermès,” she grumbled in response, cereal dripping out of her lips and onto the table. She was feeling exceptionally sluggish that morning. The snack shack, although a good distraction from her otherwise dumpster fire of a life, was taking a mental toll. She ate, drank, and slept condiment combinations, breathed the phone number of suppliers, and the correct ratio to make the perfect milkshake was burned onto the inside of her eyelids. 

Just then, Mabel bounded into the kitchen, loud and boisterous in her usual way. Pacifica pinched the bridge of her nose; a headache was forming behind her eyes. The brunette sat herself across from her friend and downed an entire mug of black coffee. It amazed the blonde how she could do that with no semblance of heartburn, especially considering the girl only drank ‘Mabel Juice’ for years on end. 

She turned her attention to Pacifica, who was still slouched in her chair, more reanimated corpse than living girl, “Sooo Paz. Dipper and I have been talking...and you and I are going to have a girl’s day!” 

“No,” Pacifica grunted in response. 

“Yes.”

The Northwest picked her head up and furrowed her brow, “No, Mabel. You know tomorrow’s a big day for me, and there’s still so much to do-”

“Do you trust me,” Dipper chimed in unexpectedly. A resolute look sat on his face; how either of them could be so awake and attentive at such an early hour (11 in the morning) was vexing to Pacifica. 

“Of course I trust you.”

The boy readjusted his ever-present cap in triumph, “Then let me take care of things for a day.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, “Look you guys. I know you have good intentions…” Suddenly Mabel pulled out her phone and flashed a picture of Pacifica. She passed the phone over to her friend, and upon seeing the photo of herself, the blonde gasped in horror. She looked like shit. The twins stared at her expectantly. 

“You can’t go out there tomorrow looking like that, can you?” According to the picture, Pacifica’s current look was ‘meth- not even once’, which not even she could pull off. 

“Fine.” Was it a little embarrassing how quickly she acquiesced? Maybe, but Pacifica was also too tired to dwell on it, “What did you have in mind?”

A grin spread across Mabel’s face. Pacifica found it punchable. 

“A little birdy told me, that little birdy being the, frankly impressive, array of trophies you have upstairs-”

“Oh come on Mabel, no.”

But Mabel did not herself acquiesce, “That _you,_ Pacifica Elise Northwest, are a fan of golf!” The two stared at each other for a long moment, Pacifica in tired contempt, Mabel in joyous victory. Dipper decided to keep out of it, instead deciding to focus on the back of a cereal box. 

The silence broke, “Mabel, I just don’t really feel like going to the links today.”

“Ok I don’t know what wild cats have to do with golf, but something tells me that there’s a brightly colored ball with a matching putter with your name on it!” 

‘Really,” Pacifica drawled, “You want to play me in mini-golf again? Don’t you remember what happened last time, with the Lilliputtians and the attempted murder? Not to mention the hot, hot competitive rage that burns inside me at all times?”

“Psh it’ll be _fine._ ” 

Things were not going fine. Pacifica was off her game, but this time she couldn’t blame it on golf-themed gremlins. Although, rustling and quiet jabbering made its presence known at the edges of Pacifica’s senses. The Lilliputtians were around. She just hoped they wouldn’t strike in broad daylight. 

Still, the blonde had not done better than par the entire 16 holes they had already played, whereas Mabel had gotten a hole in one on every other one. 

“Are you sure you’re like, the world’s greatest golfer,” Mabel playfully chided. She nudged an elbow into Pacifica’s ribs and waggled her eyebrows. The blonde remained unmoved. 

“Every athlete has their handicap. Putting happens to be mine.” 

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” the brunette responded. Pacifica ignored her and went back to setting up her shot. She was roughly only two feet away from sinking the 17th hole. She could do this with her eyes closed. Despite her friend’s insistence that she shouldn’t take this too seriously, the gold star insisted upon bringing her gloves. It was a hot afternoon, and her hands became sweaty not just from the heat, but from the mounting pressure. She inhaled. The backswing. The impact. The light tinkle of ball falling in cup. Pacifica smirked. That sound would never get old. The brunette’s polite golf clap on the other hand… 

She grabbed the score sheet from her friend’s hand. It was just yet another par; Mabel was coming out on top of this round for sure. 

Pacifica pushed her sunglasses further up her nose, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” She stalked off to the final hole, Mabel bounding next to her. 

The Dutch windmill was laid out before them in all its timing-nightmare glory. The blonde huffed out a breath through her nose and set her purple ball down on the starting green. The backswing…

“Hey Paz, what if you, like, just tried not caring this time?”

The question broke the blonde’s concentration. Putter still poised mid-swing she responded, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well,” Mabel started, mouth full of soft pretzel. They were supposed to be sharing that. “This entire time we’ve been puttin’ away, hell these whole weeks that I’ve been back in Gravity Falls, you’ve just been so tense. And yeah, I know you got a lot on your plate right now, but can’t you just forget about it for the time it takes to swing a golf club?” Pacifica stared at her dumbfounded and maybe a little hungry as Mabel shoved the rest of the pretzel into her mouth. 

“No.” 

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _No._ I can’t just clear my mind like that.”

The brunette sucked her fingers, “Fine, then just think about literally anything else. I challenge you.”

“Oh so now you’re challenging me,” Pacifica retorted, hand on her hips.

“Yes. I’m challenging you to think of something pleasant for about a second and a half.” 

If looks could kill, Mabel Pines would be dust. No one provoked a Northwest and got away with it. 

Nonetheless, Pacifica rolled her head to the side and closed her eyes. For a moment, everything came rushing at once: her parents, the shack, her sexuality. Pacifica wanted to scream, but instead gritted her teeth and cracked the tension out of her neck. Forcing it all to fade away, her mind desperately tried to grab onto one single positive thing. The thing her subconscious finally settled on was odd, but not unwelcome. Stan had taken her in without a second thought, and as tears began to prick at her eyes at the memory of the man sewing her up on her hour of need, the blonde failed to realize that she had already hit the ball until that telltale clink sounded from down the hole. 

Her eyes snapped open. Instead of being faced with the ball hitting against one of the blades of the windmill, the purple orb was nowhere to be seen. She strided across the green, disbelief setting in when the ball became visible within the cup. Pacifica turned around, shocked, to gaze at her crush. Mabel simply smiled back at her, satisfied. 

No more words were exchanged; what was there left to say? Pacifica just watched the brunette tee up the ball, and, after dodging the girl’s righteously strong backswing, followed the ball as it collided firmly with the blade of the windmill. 

“Fuck.” 

Later that evening, the two girls watched the sun set over Gravity Falls from their perch on the roof of the mystery shack. They lounged on folding chairs, a cooler filled with pop and melting ice situated between them. The two of them were bathed in light of every color. Pacifica had never been very superstitious, but she did hope the presence of red within the heavens actually did foretell smooth sailing for the following day. She expected a madhouse and prayed that her meat calculations had been correct. Dipper had seemingly handled all the prep work fine. Still, she couldn’t help but worry. 

The blonde watched her friend and crush. Mabel seemed content to not even watch the changing sky. She sat, eyes closed, simply relishing the feeling of the sun and breeze on her face. Pacifica wondered what it was like for Mabel. No one was truly care free, but Mabel seemed to just enjoy life. The Northwest wanted to be a part of that life. The brunette sure made it hard not to. 

Suddenly, brown eyes snapped open to attention and focused on Pacifica, “Oh! I almost forgot. I have something for you.” She pulled out a folded up piece of paper and handed it to the other girl. 

The blonde unfurled it to reveal a sign. Or at least, a drawing of one. ‘Paz’s Snack Shack’ was emblazoned in purple bubble letters and surrounded by sparkles and stars. The page practically dripped glitter. 

“That’s obviously just a mock-up,” Mabel said, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, “The real one should arrive soon, but I didn’t have the money to shell out for express shipping.” 

The matter at hand was taking a moment to process in Pacifica’s brain, “...what?”

“I designed you a sign. For the snack shack. And then I bought you said sign...also…” The twin trailed off. Pacifica still hadn’t reacted and it was making Mabel nervous. Lately, Pacifica felt like she had been doing a lot more lunging than usual. Nonetheless, she vaulted the cooler to engulf her friend in a bear hug. 

“I love it. Thank you.” After a second, Pacifica got up to move back to her own chair, but as soon as she sat down, Mabel sat herself between the blonde’s stretched out legs and leaned back against Pacifica’s chest until fluffy brown curled rustled against a strong, angular chin. It was completely normal, if not expected of them to cuddle. But everytime, Mabel’s proximity set the dirty blonde girl’s heart and mind ablaze. 

They stayed like that, just laying in silence. Pacifica watched the colors of the darkening sky fade and reflect onto the face of the girl below her. 

“Mabel?”

“Hmm?”

Pacifica bit her lip before continuing, “When did you know that you liked girls?”

“Oh, well,” she blinked in thought, “I kind of always knew, as cliche as that is. Feeling attracted to girls or guys or nonbinary people or whatever was never like, an internal point of contention within me. It kind of just was. I suppose for a little while there I was kind of boy-crazy but,” she shrugged, “that’s just how it goes sometimes.” 

“Yeah.”

The brunette kept rambling, “And ya know, sometimes you start watching Glee at age 10, discover who Quinn Fabray is, and end up with an irreversible _thing_ for...uh blondes...”

Pacifica gaped at her as Mabel desperately looked everywhere but directly at her friend. Clearing her throat, she finally said, “But enough about me, what about _you_ ,” her voice suddenly more breathy.

“What _about_ me?”

Mabel tapped a finger on her friend’s hand, “When did _you_ know you liked girls? I mean, I know Dipper and I were the first people you ever came out to, and I want to hear the story.” 

Pacifica sighed and collected her thoughts. She scanned the treeline. They could see for miles and miles from up there. They could see Northwest Manor from up there. She began, “I was 12, we were vacationing on the Amalfi Coast-”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Mabel exclaimed, laughing. She playfully shoved Pacifica’s knee. 

“It’s true,” the blonde giggled. 

“Whatever, Miss. Moneybags. Just tell the story.”

“It’s true I swear.” Mabel’s look remained skeptical but she interrupted no more. Pacifica went on, “Anyway, we had chartered a sailboat out of Salerno, and the deck hand was this gorgeous, sun-kissed Italian woman. I just remember watching her, transfixed. I mean, we were engulfed in this remarkable scenery, but the only thing I cared to watch was the raw form of this woman. It was enthralling, the way she tied knots and everything. Even if being gay was a choice, I’d still choose it because, um hello? Have you seen how pretty women are?” 

Silence passed between them. Pacifica looked down to see an unreadable expression on her crush’s face. 

“All the places you’ve been and things you’ve done. Even now, it’s what I’ve always been most jealous of you over,” Mabel finally spoke. Another second passed, “Like, it was so hard, knowing that you had this worldliness about you, but you were so unwilling to share it or let anyone in, that instead you actively campaigned against me?” The blonde could hear the thick tears working their way into Mabel’s tone. Water sprung up around her own eyes too. 

“Mabel I-” 

“Pacifica, you should not be hiding your light under a bushel. I cannot describe to you how much joy it has brought me, to be able to help you evolve into my best friend, and you have more than made up for how you treated me and Dipper in the past. But sometimes, I can’t help but feel jealous of you. And now that I know that you’re actually a good person, which I **_ALWAYS_ ** knew you were by the way, my jealousy feels a lot more guilty than it ever did.”

Both girls took long sips of their pop, brows furrowed. 

“Mabel, if I could jet you around the world, I would do so without a second thought.” 

“I know.”

“Mabel, I’m _sorry_. 

“I know, Paz. And _I forgive you,_ ” Mabel said. She leaned her head up to kiss Pacifica on the chin, an act that immediately turned the blonde girl scarlet. The twin settled back down onto her friend’s chest, “For now at least, I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” 

Pacifica tucked a strand of dark hair behind Mabel’s ear and leaned down to kiss the girl’s forehead, “Thank you.” She leaned her cheek against the crown of brown locks. 

“You’re welcome. Now,” the brunette clinked her bottle against Pacifica’s, “here’s to tomorrow, and to the good fortune of Pacifica Elise Northwest. I hope she finds life among the commoners bearable.” 

Pacifica grimaced before draining the rest of her pop, “yeah. Cheers to her. Whoever the hell she is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm actually going to state here for the record that the next chapter will be coming out July 4th because it matches up with the in-story date. 
> 
> Like I said, I've been compiling notes and it turns out that due to when I started writing this and where I am now, that the in-story timeline is going to line up fairly nicely with how time progresses in the real world, which I think it cool. Which, spoiler alert, means that if I continue to follow that continuity, this fic will be done sometime next Summer. So...take from that what you will...
> 
> Anyway here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos. I love hearing from you guys!


	5. Love & Patroclus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Child abuse
> 
> It's still July 4th where I am so promise: delivered. 
> 
> Every time I type Grenda, my computer auto-corrects it to Grenada. Like, even after I tell Google Docs to ignore it. Sooo...I don't think the robot uprising is coming any time soon. 
> 
> Side-note, idk if they already had a ship name but Grenda + Mabel = Grabel. I just know I'm going to get tired of typing out 'Grenda and Mabel' all the time. 
> 
> Anyway here's the companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=7pA6U0cdQOaNw4qPL-rXJQ
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave kudos and comments, I love hearing from you guys. Enjoy!

“ _That’s right folks. This Independence Day is one for the record books,_ ” Shandra Jimenez reported behind them, “ _With a solid 100 degrees, that’s right citizens of Gravity Falls, we are in the triple digit danger zone, this July Fourth is set to be the hottest ever!_ ” 

“Oh god guys. I don’t know if I can do this.” Suddenly, Pacifica’s face whipped to the side. 

“SNAP OUT OF IT SISTER,” Mabel screamed in her face, “YOU’VE BEEN PREPPING FOR THIS FOR WEEKS. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO THROW THAT ALL AWAY AT THE LAST SECOND ARE YOU?!” 

The blonde massaged her reddening cheek, the fear of god and Mabel firmly settling in her eyes, “No...I-I guess not…”

“Great!” And with that, the brunette continued to decorate her friend’s face with festive red, white, and blue paint. Mabel knelt on the floor, whereas her twin brother stood behind Pacifca, massaging her shoulders like she was a boxer competing for the championship belt. The kitchen was sweltering and all three of them felt sticky and sluggish. Pacifica’s sweat, tinged red from where it streaked through the face paint, was a heady mix of heat and nerves. She grabbed the water bottle from the table next to her and downed half of it in one sip. 

That morning the blonde had been unceremoniously shoved out of the covers by Mabel, with whom she had been sharing a bed. It was fine. It was totally platonic. The morning in question however, she realized that their sleeping arrangements might have to be reexamined. Before she could even make contact with the hardwood floor, two all-two-awake-for-nine-in-the-morning twin faces bombarded her vision, yelling about burgers and fireworks, and whether or not Pacifica was ready for the rest of her life. She wasn’t _not_ ready. She just wished it had come a little quieter. 

“Close your eyes,” Mabel said. Always one to do as told, Pacifica allowed herself to sink into the hands that were clumsily kneading her neck and shoulders. The blonde felt something cool smeared on the skin just below her eyebrows. She could sense how close the brunette was to her. No matter what, Pacifica was always aware of her friend’s presence. _Always_ . The all-to-familiar scent of berry and eucalyptus wafted between them. Breath fell on freshly glossed lips. Mabel was practically right up against her: close enough to _...kiss._ Her lips ached for it, even if for a second. Her heart begged for it, but just as she leaned in the slightest fraction of an inch, a sharp tug on her hair brought her back to reality. Steel blue eyes snapped open. She whipped around, best bitch face prepared for a stern talking-to, only to find Dipper’s face deadly serious. 

“Don’t,” he mouthed. Pacifica scoffed, but stood down skulking, instead facing forward once more to allow Mabel to continue her masterpiece . A few more moments passed until the brunette finally sat back to admire her work. Mabel’s face broke out in a toothy smile. She had gotten her braces off a couple Summers before. The day she had stepped off the bus and exhibited her newly metal-free teeth for all to see, Pacifica’s heart had skipped. She had always thought Mabel was beautiful, no doubt about it. But the heightened self-confidence the lack of braces brought about? Now that was hot as hell. 

A haunted looking Victorian hand mirror was shoved into Pacifica’s hands, “Where did you get this thing?” 

Mabel shrugged, “Found it rifling through yet another mysterious room. You know how it goes.”

“ _Riiight_ …” The blonde wasn’t interested in unpacking _that_. She instead chose to focus on Mabel’s handiwork. Red, white, and blue paint was striped under her eyes like a football player. From the glittery eyeshadow to the thickly coated lips, her look certainly was festive. Not the style Pacifica normally shot for, but it was a special occasion, she supposed. 

“It’s great. Thank you.” 

Mabel clapped her hands excitedly, “That’s the Mabel promise. So Dip-Dop. Will you be joining me and the gals for our sleepover this patriotic evening?”

“Oh gosh, I don-”

“Yes. He is.” It was Pacifica’s turn for a no-nonsense look. Dipper had already promised her that he would participate. Maybe he wasn’t completely listening, but in her book, a yes was a yes. She wouldn’t survive the evening without him and Pacifica couldn’t exactly tell Mabel no. For one thing, she lived at the shack now; where the hell was she going to go? So, if she had to spend an excruciatingly awkward night with Mabel, Mabel’s girlfriend, and Candy, than on god, so did Dipper. 

The boy opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the entrance of Stan.

“Hey. Twins. Scram. I gotta talk to blondie.” The two brunettes exited and Pacifica prepared herself for a very serious conversation. 

The man sat down across the table from her. He was holding something, but Pacifica couldn’t tell what exactly. 

“You better make me proud, kid.” 

“I’ll try my best,” she replied. Her eyes glanced at the clock: 11:30. They would be opening for business in half an hour. The blonde felt as if she were standing on a beach nearing high tide. Soon she would be swept away, and she barely saw it coming until it was too late. 

"Yeah, well you know you have incentive to make me a whole lotta cash.” The hustler winked at her. Whether or not he would actually kick her out was irrelevant. She wasn’t interested in finding out in the first place. Besides, the venture had taken on a second meaning to her. Successfully serving the public burgers and fries was the first step to redemption, how ever abstract the concept might currently be. She wasn’t sure what redemption meant yet. Pacifica still wasn’t even sure if it was worth seeking. Maybe this whole ‘restaurant thing’ was just something to keep her distracted. No matter the motivation, the former heiress was glad for any excuse to draw her thoughts away from her bigger problems. 

Stan fidgeted with whatever was in his hands, “I’ve got a gift for you, blondie. Just don’t start expecting handout like this though. I’m not made of money.” With that, he set the object between them on the table. It was a maroon baseball cap, emblazoned with a matching symbol to the one of Stan’s fez. Pacifica gingerly picked the hat up to examine it closer. Solid build, quality stitching, adjustable back. Granted, the brim was a little stiff for her liking, but that would be rectified with time. 

“For brand recognition, you know,” Stan averted his eyes and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, “We’re a team now...or something.” The girl simply gazed at him in shocked gratitude. It was a little confusing for her, knowing what she knew about Stan Pines. Although it was obviously he cared deeply for his loved ones, the man wasn’t normally one to display affection in the ‘traditional’ sense. In fact, Pacifica was surprised that the hair that Mabel had so carefully coifed was still in place, considering how often it seemed to be ruffled these days. 

Pacifica ran her finger along the edge of the hat. They still weren’t looking at eachother, and the silence only continued to grow more awkward. Stan’s knee nervously bounced up and down under the table. It was more about brand recognition and both of them knew it. At least on some level, Pacifica putting on the hat baring Stan’s emblem was Pacifica accepting her new lot in life. She still could be adorned in stolen silver and gold, but green would no longer drip from her fingers. 

The blonde continued to stare at the man sitting opposite her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being associated with him. He was more Midas than Preston Northwest, despite being the pauper to her father’s prince. For her entire life, Pacifica had been aware of the legacy that both preceded her, as well as would follow her name even beyond the grave. 

She was currently sitting in the kitchen of Stan Pines’ legacy. Maybe that was why Stan took special interest in her. Where most people saw a rigid girl built of stiff morals and cold cash, the man who could spin a million stories saw someone more...pliable. But Mr. Mystery still came with a reputation of his own. 

Maybe Stan Pines saw nothing but monetary gain from the chance to take ‘The Most Popular Girl in Gravity Falls’ under his weathered wing. Maybe he was doing it as revenge against her family. Maybe Pacifica liked the sound of taking revenge against her family...

Maybe Pacifica was reading too much into all this. It was a hat, and if nothing else, it would shield her eyes from the overbearing Summer sun. 

With a resolute nod, she took the ever-present hair tie off her wrist and pulled back her hair. With one more reverent touch, the ball cap was placed on her head. It was snug, and Pacifica knew that later she would have to deal with the dreaded hat hair. 

Stan looked back up at the sound of chair scraping against linoleum. A grin spread over his face at the sight of their matching headgear. 

“You look great kid,” he said, “Maybe I should make you a Mystery Shack shirt to go along with it.” 

The blonde glanced down at the top she was currently wearing. It was one of Mabel’s Sev’ral Timez tees. She had no casual t-shirts of her own, and the twins insisted that a thousand dollar silk blouse was not appropriate to sling burgers in. The tee was shoved over her head faster than you could say ‘Deep Chris’.

“I think I’m good.”

The man chuckled at that, “Knock em’ dead kid.” He chucked her shoulder and left the room. Another glace at the clock revealed that it was already 11:50. With just 10 minutes to go, Pacifica’s nerves ramped back up to 15. 

“So what did he give you? We were totally eavesdropping from the living room,” Mabel stated, reentering the room with Dipper and Waddles in tow. Pacifica whirled around to face the spies, an annoyed look gracing her made-up face. Mabel gasped and rushed forward to get a closer look at the hat. Dipper, on the other hand, looked slightly constipated.

“Wow it’s...really cool that Grunkle Stan just gave you that hat like that,” he said, jealousy obvious in his tone. 

The blonde gestured to the pine tree baseball cap that was always and forever perched on her friend’s head, “He gave you that hat, didn’t he.”

“Well, yeah,” he scuffed a foot against the floor, “it’s still not the same.”

“Bro-bro you can’t seriously be jealous of Paz right now,” Mabel scoffed, still examining the blonde’s new hat, “you know he loves us.”

“I just wish he’d show it more.”

His twin suddenly turned deadly serious, “Do you? Do you _really_? Wouldn’t that just be super weird? Like, imagine tomorrow he just wakes you up with breakfast in bed. Wouldn’t you be completely freaked out by that?” 

Dipper blinked in contemplation, “Yes. I suppose that would be very strange. Point conceded.”

“YES,” Mabel cheered, pumping her fist into the air then holding them out for Pacifica to see, “I used to be able to count on one hand the amount of times Dipper has admitted I’m right. But now,” Mabel splayed out all five fingers on her left hand before dramatically raising the index finger of her right, “I need to use both!” Dipper grumbled behind her. 

Still, time plowed on, “Paz, we should get out there,” Dipper said. 

“I’ll be cheering you two on from the sidelines,” Mabel said solemnly, patting Pacifica on the back. 

And so, Dipper and the blonde marched their way outside to where the shack was set up. Rounding the corner to the backyard, abject horror rooted the two friends to the ground. The entire town was congregated in the back lawn of the Mystery Shack. There were people everywhere: In a long line, as well as congregated at the picnic tables that had been set up. There were even some people lounging on the roof and hood of Pacifica’s beemer. 

“ _Hey get_ -,” she began to yell, but was stopped by Dipper.

“It’s not worth it.” The blonde snapped her mouth shut in response. She took a moment to steel herself and continued on to the snack shack, dragging Dipper along with her. 

She had spent weeks preparing for that moment. She had the griddle, the fryers, the milkshake maker, and all the food and paraphernalia that went with them. Her wrists must have traveled miles in all the time she took to perfect her patty flipping technique. She had been completely desensitized to the fear of everything popping around in the fryer. All this preparedness could never account for one specific variable: the human condition. 

She looked around at all the townsfolk that were gathered together just to sample her cuisine. Pacifica Northwest grew up with these people, and even if she was a little hazy on some of their names, they all certainly knew her. 

The citizens of Gravity Falls worshipped the Northwest family, and by extension, her. That being said, she worried that maybe they were all just sharks in townie clothing. The Pines family had personally resented her for years until Pacifica actively began trying to become a better person. It had been, and still was, a very personal journey, and one that was probably hard to notice from far away. It was not lost on the blonde that most of her peers still saw her as a rich bitch, if not a slightly mellower one. But now, she wasn’t rich anymore. 

Pacifica’s newfound insolvency had let a drop of blood into the water, and the mob smelt it. One false move, and any good-will she had left within the community would be gone. 

Pacifica ran her hand over the metal counter. One of the things she had Dipper do the day before was polish it to a mirror shine. She had to admit, he did a pretty good job. In fact, thanks to his hard work, they were ready to serve. How could she have ever doubted him? The one person more meticulous and calculating than Pacifica Northwest was Dipper Pines. 

An alarm went off on the phone in her pocket. It was noon. From the shiny new counter and appliances, to the chalkboard menu colorfully drawn by Mabel, it was time to get down to business. 

“Let’s fucking do this,” and with that, Pacifica flipped the sign hanging from the counter from ‘Get outta here. We’re closed’ to ‘We’re open. Gimme your money’. The loud yammering of the crowd only increased. 

She turned to face down her first customer, “Hi Tyler. Happy fourth! What can I get for you?” 

Later that afternoon, sweat dripping from the tips of her hair, she glanced over at Dipper. He looked about as frantic as Pacifica did, moving in a blur, but his form was smooth as could be. From her place chained to the register, they locked eyes for a second and gave each other a small encouraging smile until Pacifica’s attention was pulled back to the line of hungry customers. Yeah, maybe this could work out. 

Around five in the afternoon, there was a bit of a lull in the deluge of people. Dipper forced Pacifrica to take a break to, “Just eat something. I can’t have you collapsing on me.” 

So the blonde grabbed a bag of Chipackers and sat herself down at one of the picnic tables. The wood was scratchy and prone to imbedding itself into one’s skin. Inevitable splinters aside, Pacifica was relieved to just be able to sit down. Her knees were certainly thanking her for it. Blubs and Derland sat across from her, going to town on a plate of fries. They regaled her with tales of their recent arrests, but Pacifica’s focus was elsewhere. 

Grenda and Candy were staying the night at the shack, and the two friends had come by early to hang out with Mabel. The three girls were dressing up Waddles in festive clothing and face paint. They also had a bucket of water balloons which were being thrown at her patrons. Sure, it probably wasn’t great ambiance for her customers to be bombarded with water balloons, but it was hot as hell, and she hadn’t heard any complaints yet. 

Was Pacifica jealous of them? Well, yes and no. She was jealous of how well the group gelled with each other. Pacifica wished she had close friends like that: female friends that is. At that point of their friendship, she considered Dipper a brother. And of course she was close with Mabel, but their relationship was sometimes...strange and undefined. She didn’t envy Waddles, though. In fact, she felt for the pig, as she had gotten the full Mabel treatment that same morning. 

Grenda knelt down to kiss the girl in question on the cheek. Mabel giggled under the affection. Now _that_ was what Pacifica was jealous of. It was difficult to watch, but even more difficult to look away. What did Grenda have that she didn’t? Pacifica was prettier than her, smarter than her, and just all-around better than her. And that thinking was why Mabel was with Grenda and not her. Grenda was _kind_ , and Pacifica was well...not. But Grenda was _Grenda_ , and Pacifica was _Pacifica Elise Northwest_. 

All this self-reflection was starting to hurt her head. 

“...and then we got a call of a break in at Northwest Manor…”

The blonde’s head whipped back to the men sitting opposite her at Blubs’ namedrop of her former home. 

“What did you just say?”

The sheriff raised an eyebrow, “I said, about a month ago, we got a call about a break in at Northwest Manor. Some personal items were stolen, as well as a custom white BMW convertible, license plate reading PEN,” the man slid his sunglasses down his nose to fix Pacifica with a leveling look, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” 

Pacifica gulped and her eyes quickly flicked to where the car was parked not even a couple yards away. The usually pristine white paint was spattered with mud and grass due to the fact that she was now parking it on the back lawn in case of circumstances exactly like these. You don’t park a stolen car right in front of your house. If only she had taken the logistics of her entire business venture into account. Maybe she had smeared some mud specifically over the plates just in case. 

Unfortunately, Pacifica hadn’t had a whole lot of time of late to practice her poker face, and the cops immediately caught on to her shiftiness and followed her line of sight. The two officers slowly got up from the table and went to investigate the vehicle more closely, hands on their nightsticks, ready to strike. Pacifica followed close on their heels, frantically racking her brain for an excuse. 

They approached, and Sheriff Blubs tapped the hood with his baton. The blonde winced, hoping that it wouldn’t scratch the paint. 

“Now Durland, is this what I think it is?”

“I think so,” replied the deputy, “the white BMW custom-” 

“ _Custom_ ?” Pacifica jumped in. She prayed to any god available that these small town police officers were not car aficionados. Putting on her best impression of Stan Pines, she continued, “No officers. This is no custom. You think I’m just made of money? This here beemer is just plain-old factory settings. _Custom_ . Ha. The Mystery Shack doesn’t make enough money to buy a custom _anything_. I am but a humble purveyor of mediocre meats and potatoes.” So maybe she was laying it on a little thick. 

The two cops looked suspiciously at her, her hat, then at each other. The blonde quickly took it off and hid the cap behind her back when the two weren’t looking. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to visually associate with Mr. Mystery. 

“That checks out, Northwest, but we’re watching you,” they said in unison before slowly backing away, never taking their eyes off the blonde. Pacifica sighed in relief. She was just glad the twins had convinced her not to wear any technically stolen jewelry that morning. She didn’t have an explanation for that one other than seeing the items in ‘Gold Chains for Old Men’ magazine, and Pacifica would die before admitting to reading that. 

Unbeknownst to her, the group of girls had watched the whole thing go down. 

“Paz, did you just lie to the co-,” Mabel started, but Pacifica rushed over and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could finish. Something wet hit her palm. The brunette was licking her hand, but the blonde didn’t yet trust the girl to not blab about something else within earshot of the police. 

“Quiet. Do you want me to get arrested? Because if I did, I’m bringing Stan, Wendy, and Soos, with me on conspiracy,” the blonde hissed out in her friend’s ear. Classic Pacifica was out to play. Mabel shook her head no, fear evident in her eyes. Satisfied, the former heiress took her hand away from the other girl’s mouth. 

Mabel wiped her mouth. Pacifica wiped her palm on her shorts. 

“You’d really do that? Also you taste like sandalwood,” Mabel asked. Her eyebrows were knit in concern. 

“Do what…?”

“Snitch on all my loved ones?” 

Pacifica paled, “Oh uh...OH, what’s that Dipper? The shake machine is jammed and you need my expert hand to unclog it? COMING.” The blonde ran off, but felt something wet explode against her back, making her stumble, soaking her hair, and sticking her t-shirt to her torso. Honestly? In the July heat, getting hit with a water balloon felt pretty nice, but Mabel had just thrown something at her in anger, which didn’t feel pretty nice at all. 

She was going to let it go, but then, “ _STOOL PIGEON,”_ was yelled at her retreating form. The soaked blonde whirled around and stomped back over to the group of girls. Upon seeing an enraged Pacifica Northwest, Candy and Grenda rightfully backed away. Mabel, however, stood her ground. 

The blonde didn’t stop until their noses were touching, “What did you just call me?”

Mabel’s deep brown eyes stared unflinching into Pacifica’s steely-blues, “I called you a Stool Pigeon. You’re a double-crosser, a tattler, a squealer, an ‘agent provocateur’. You, Pacifica Northwest, are a _weasel_.” 

“ _I am no weasel_. You take that back.”

“Take back what you said about sending my family up the river.”

“Oh sorry, I have a sense of self-preservation. Besides, I shooed the cops away, so it’s not even going to come to that ever anyway.” 

Mabel looked unconvinced. She stepped away from Pacifica in order to give the blonde a proper look up and down. Then, the brunette reached forward and took the hat, which was still clutched in Pacifica’s hand, and placed it back atop dirty blonde locks. 

“I just- I wish you would give more thought to what you say before you say it sometimes.” 

Pacifica couldn’t really argue with that. She _did_ have quite the mouth sometimes. The blonde sheepishly hung her head and kicked at the dirt. Shoes that had once matched the brilliant white car now too were stained with dirt. 

“I guess I’m sorry,” she mumbled. A gasp came from the peanut gallery. _A Northwest apologizing? Somebody get a picture!_

Yeah whatever. 

Mabel placed a hand on the blonde’s athletic shoulder before suddenly pulling her into a bone crushing hug, “Then I guess I forgive you,” she screamed in Pacifica’s ear. 

“Mabel I actually do have to get back to work now,” the blonde squeaked out. She could feel her eyes bulging out of her head from the sheer force of the hug. The brunette’s strength was one mystery of Gravity Falls not even Dipper could solve. 

“Oh right.” Her feet were once more planted firmly on the ground and she turned away to walk back to her post behind the cash register. She overheard Mabel talking with her girls. 

“Will Pacifica be joining us tonight at the sleepover,” Candy asked. Between her and Grenda, Pacifica had always preferred Candy. Maybe it was the fact that Candy was more understated, or maybe it was just the fact that Candy wasn’t the one dating Pacifica’s crush. 

“Yes,” Mabel announced proudly, “and Dipper too.” At the mention of her brother, the conversation devolved into hushed giggles and whispered plans. The blonde just shook her head and smiled fondly. Tonight sure was going to be a doozy. 

The blonde situated herself back behind the counter and laid her chin against her hand. It was about 5:30, just an hour and a half left in the work day. Her gaze shifted to Dipper, who chugged a bottle of water. He was all red and sweaty, and almost looked ready to drop. 

“Hey do you want to take a break?” 

“No,” the boy wheezed, “there’s not that much time left anyway. I’ll just tough it out.” Pacifica tapped her nails on the cool metal of the counter and glanced down at her reflection. Even through the distortion, she could see that she wasn’t in much better shape. Her sweat had run rivulets through the red, white, and blue face paint. It looked more like KISS makeup than something celebrating the anniversary of the founding of her nation. Her hair felt greasy and dripped sweat. Pacifica removed her hat and used it to fan herself and Dipper. Steam rose in faint wisps from the top of her head. 

“What if I,” she drawled out, twirling a lock of hair around a dainty finger, “used my powers as your boss to _make_ you take a break?” 

Dipper continued to pant, but looked annoyed with her. He was not a man who liked being told what to do, even when his entire shirt was practically one big sweat stain, “No really. I’ll be fine. I feel like I’m putting in some good work and I don’t want to stop my momentum.” 

She could understand that. “So be it,” Pacifica said, holding her hands up in defeat, “Just don’t go dropping dead on me. We don’t have that kind of insurance.” 

“Ha ha, yeah,” he responded before bending over to place his hands on his knees. Pacifica opened another bottle of water and dumped it over her friend. A quiet ‘thanks’ was heard from underneath a mop of brown hair. 

Dipper straightened back up after taking a moment to catch his breath, “Can I ask-”

“No.”

He ignored her, “Can I ask why you picked me to work with you and not Mabel? I mean, don’t you think this could be the perfect opportunity for the two of you to...grow closer?” He smirked and waggled his eyebrows. Pacifica recoiled, disgusted. 

“First of all, never do that again. It makes you look like a pervert.” 

“Hey…”

It was Pacifica’s turn to steamroll, “Second of all, would you believe me if I told you I just wanted to spend time with my ‘ _special wittle guy’_?” She reached out to pinch his cheek, but the hand was slapped away.

“No, I would not believe you.” 

“Didn’t think so. Mabel gets distracted too easily. We’d get nothing done.” 

Dipper nodded in agreement, “That’s true, that’s true. What else?” 

Pacifica sighed. When did he get so good at reading her? “And...I also didn’t want to hold Mabel back from having a great Summer. I’d worry she’d end up resenting me. Also, I feel like Grenda isn’t someone you want as an enemy. I should know; She’s never been my friend.” 

Her friend clapped a sweaty hand on her back and beamed, “Ya see? Doesn’t it feel good when you open up to someone?” 

“No. I feel all mushy inside.” 

“That’s called vulnerability,” he responded, booping her on the nose. 

“Well I don’t like it.” 

“No one does,” Dipper sang, “But sometimes we have to embrace it if we are to pursue successful interpersonal relationships.” Pacifica stared at him unamused. The brunette remained unfazed. 

“Go take a break.” 

Dipper once again hunched over, resolve spent, “Yeah ok.” 

Later that evening, when the last customer finally left, Pacifica and Dipper laid on the cool dirt floor of the snack shack arms outstretched. The two were exhausted, but more than that, the girl felt a new emotion. 

“Hey,” she started, fatigue evident in her voice, “I think I kind of...feel good about what we did here today? Like, does that make sense? Am I going to feel like this every day now? Or is this just indigestion.” 

Dipper breathed heavily, still staring up at the cloth ceiling, “You mean, like, pride? There’s no way you haven’t felt that before? And it’ll probably wear off once you get over the novelty of a hard day’s work.” 

“Are you sure it’s pride? That’s a feeling I know, but it’s never felt like this before.” 

He rolled his head over in the dirt to get a better look at Pacifica’s confused, slightly unnerved face, “I think you’re thinking of narcissism.”

“Yeah maybe,” she responded, letting her eyes fall shut, “Is this pride good?” 

“Yes. This pride is good.” They laid like that for a couple more minutes, until the smell of warm meat and milk began to get overwhelming. 

“Someone has to clean this up. Nose goes,” she rushed out before managing to flop her arm up and onto her face, “this counts. Plus I’m in charge.” 

“Aww Pacifica-” 

“ **_Nose. Goes. Dipper._ **”

“Ugh _fine_. Just,” he comically pinched his nose shut, “go take a shower. You smell like a Manotaur.” 

“Jerk,” she responded, but got to her feet nonetheless, “I expect to be able to see my gorgeous face in the shake machine tomorrow.” Dipper looked ready to protest, but before he could, “Think of it this way. The more time you spend down here, the longer you have a valid excuse to avoid the sleepover.” _That_ idea appealed to Dipper’s logic. He immediately jumped to his feet and got to scrubbing. The sight made Pacifica laugh as she made her way back into the house. 

The cool water of the shower felt refreshing as the blonde washed the grime off her haggard body. Her forearms glowed red with sunburn and she made a mental note to slather on the sunscreen from now on. Pacifica took the peace to reflect on the afternoon. By her standards, it had been a great success. The griddle had only caught fire twice, and the large jar for tips had quickly completely filled up with cash, as did the register. Not that she knew exactly how much money was made, seeing as Stan immediately confiscated all of it at the end of the night. It seemed to her that the people of Gravity Falls were simply hungry. In a town that only had nine restaurants, any addition was met with great fanfare. Pacifica prayed that she could keep it running smoothly enough to maintain a satisfactory reputation. She only had to last the rest of the Summer, how hard could that be? 

She watched dirt and face paint disappear down the drain. There were still people in Gravity Falls that wouldn’t mind the same thing happening to her. Hopefully she’d be able to win them over in due time.

After awhile, the water became too cold for Pacifica’s liking. Her body was sore, but not in a bad way. For a split second, a bell went off in the blonde’s head. Her father’s handbell always signified pain. It was strange. Before the night she was thrown out of the house, her father had always been the one to deal out punishment. Her mother, on the other hand, preferred to dish out abuse in a verbal form. Had she really pushed her mother over the edge to the point where cutting her with words just didn’t cut it? Apparently so, as evidenced by the bandage on her cheek that Pacifica was currently staring at in the mirror. Tears began welling in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. Tonight was a night for celebrating, and Pacifica wouldn’t ruin it with lamentations about her bad life. 

She picked at the edge of the bandage. The shower water had lifted the corner, just daring the girl to rip it the rest of the way off. Without thinking, she did so quickly, wincing at the pain of doing so. Then, staring back at her, with a pink, burned nose, dirty blonde hair, and a mostly healed gash under her right eye, was a complete picture of the modern Pacifica Northwest. She gently poked and prodded the skin around her wound. The thing itself had begun to scar over, permanently marring her cheek. 

She sighed and redressed into flannel shorts and one of Dipper’s oversized t-shirts and moved on. She just didn’t have the energy to go digging for band-aids in order to redress the wound. “Might as well show it out and proud,” she thought, “Don’t let people forget what happened to you, even if you don’t want to talk about it.” Giving her appearance one more look, the girl also couldn’t find it in her to even bother brushing her still damp hair. She was still getting used to the color. Every time Pacifica looked in the mirror, she felt like she was looking at an out of focus photo of herself. For years and years she had kept up a regimented routine of bleaching and dyeing. To now be sporting her authentic color felt out of place. 

“That’s not the only thing out of place,” chanted the Greek Chorus. 

“Shut up,” Pacifica snapped to everyone and no one, “I’m working on it.” She twisted some dirty blonde hair around her index finger, gazing at the offending tendrils with apprehension. “Whatever,” she thought, “I’m sure Mabel will want to play around with it.” The girl let her hands hang down at her sides. She rolled her neck and shoulders; they popped like firecrackers. 

“Maybe I should see a chiropractor,” the blonde mumbled to herself, finally making her way to the party. 

Pacifica could hear giggles coming from behind the door as she approached the attic bedroom. Allowing herself to mentally prepare for the night ahead, the blonde leaned lightly against the heavy wooden door. From the sound of it, Dipper had finished cleaning up and was now being unwillingly subjected to any number of emasculating tasks. His protests were only muffled by the audible schadenfreude emitting from Mabel, Candy, and Grenda. Finally, the blonde opened the door to reveal quite the scene. At the sound of the opening door, Dipper snapped his head up. His eyes begged Pacifica to pass judgement like the Roman Emperor. He was a battered and bruised gladiator waiting for a thumbs down. 

To the empress, however, the boy looked delightful. Covered from head to toe in glitter and makeup, there were already at least 30 butterfly clips in his hair, with Candy adding more by the second.

“Pacifica! Great! You’re here! **_HELP M-_ **” 

“Keep your mouth **_CLOSED_ **,” shouted Grenda, clutching the boy’s chin in a death grip, “You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth.”

The whole ordeal pleased Pacifica, and her whole face lit up in a sadistic grin, “Dipper, don’t you think you’re a little old to be playing dress up?” As he physically could not open his mouth, the twin opted instead to send daggers with his eyes. They only caused the blonde to snicker harder. 

She plopped down in front of Mabel, “You want to play with my hair? I didn’t do anything to it. Just for you.” Pacifica turned and winked at her friend and crush. She could tell by the glassiness of the brunette’s eyes that she had already eaten at least a pound of sugar already, and the night was still young. 

“ _YESSSSSS_ ,” Mabel squealed, immediately digging her hands deeply into blonde locks. 

Pacifica wasn’t expecting that level of intensity, especially when she heard the girl take an uncomfortably long sniff of her hair, “You haven’t been eating raw sugar packets again, have you Mabes?” The blonde laughed nervously. If this was what the entire night was going to be like…

“No. I broke out the Mabel juice recipe for old time’s sake. I forgot how _delicious_ it was,” the brunette responded, still buried in the back of Pacifica’s head, “Do you want some?” 

“Uh...no...I don’t think so,” the former heiress said, voice rising in pitch along with her nerves. She instead turned back to what was going on with Dipper. Candy and Grenda had taken to slapping stickers on every exposed inch of skin. It was entertaining to watch, but Pacifica worried that they would eventually grow bored with torturing the boy, and instead move on to her. 

Truth be told, even though this was by no means Pacifica’s first Pines-style sleepover, the event still put her on edge. She knew Candy and Grenda would prefer it if she wasn’t there, and although they had never actively shunned her, the two of them had never been exceptionally welcoming either. The blonde always felt like an intrusion, like she had somehow undeservingly been granted access to the exclusive club that was Mabel’s circle of friends. A lot of the time, Pacifica _did_ feel undeserving of the other girl’s kindness. Plus, the current level of unsupervised wild fun wasn’t exactly something she had loads of experience in. 

She sometimes felt like she only played the part of a teenage girl. The other three girls had so many shared interests that they practically shared a brain. What did she and Mabel have in common? Sometimes they played mini-golf together. And they both liked girls. Other than that, they were from two different worlds. 

But still, Mabel wanted her there, or at least she acted like it. For now, that was enough to get the blonde to stay, as reluctant as she may be. 

Eventually, Dipper managed to wriggle out of Grenda’s grasp, “I’m just going to pop out for a second guys. I need to wipe off,” he gestured widely across his entire body, “all this,” and darted out of the room without waiting for a response. 

“ **_PARTY POOPER_ **,” Grenda yelled after him. Mabel continued to curl and uncurl Pacifica’s hair. The blonde didn’t miss the fact that Grenda occasionally shot jealous, suspicious glances her way. Always one to poke the bear, Pacifica had situated herself on Mabel’s lap. When no protests came from her girlfriend, Grenda just fumed more. Pacifica was in a safe space here. Grenda could beat her up anywhere else, and based on the intensity of the glare, she was probably fantasizing about throwing the lankier girl out the attic window. Mabel’s presence kept her untouchable, so the warfare was contained. 

“It is fine guys,” Candy started, “Besides. I have something to tell you.” 

Finally, Mabel emerged from blonde locks at the promise of a shared secret, “Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh,” she screeched right next to Pacifica’s ear. 

Candy turned crimson, and the Northwest girl was fairly certain what was coming.

“I have a crush on Dipper.” All the air in the room was sucked into Mabel and Grenda’s mouths. Pacifica, on the other hand, sat there unfazed, waiting for the bomb to drop. And it did. In an instant, the room was once again filled with unbridled squeals and girlish laughter. 

“You guys have to pinky promise not to say anything.” Candy held her finger out for the taking. 

“We promise,” said the two other girls enthusiastically. A beat of silence passed; three pairs of wild eyes trained themselves on Pacifica. 

“Paz, come on,” Mabel whispered. 

The blonde scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Fine.” Her begrudging pinky was added into the mix, “I pinky promise.” Four fingers grasped together, and just like that, they were all sworn to secrecy. And just in time, because Dipper, knowing they would find him one way or another, elected to gingerly return to the room by his own volition. 

Before the girls could pounce once more, a loud pop sounded outside. Five heads whipped around to follow the noise.

“FIREWORKS,” was collectively exclaimed, and Pacifica was swiftly dragged by the wrist up onto the roof of the shack to take in the view, but not before managing to grab one of her cameras.

The cloyingly hot day had faded into a warm summer night. Between booms from the fireworks, the steady buzz of cicadas permeated the surrounding forest. The blonde had always loved watching the fireworks. Not only were they a great photo opportunity, but she loved how the display practically demanded emotion. Her mental Greek Chorus spun a wheel in her mind. 

This year’s emotion would be...Ding! Ding! Ding: Envy!

She felt the explosions in her belly, and watched in awe as the sky lit up in a rain of colors which reflected back on the faces of her friends. 

Mabel and Grenda made out on a lawn chair to Pacifica’s left. Candy saddled up to an oblivious Dipper on her right. The blonde sat in the middle of it all with no one’s company but herself. If she wasn’t jealous, Pacifica would probably find it in herself to make some biting comment about the ‘Grabel’s’ disgusting PDA. As it was though, her jaw was clenched so hard, it probably couldn’t even be forced open. Forced to sit in wide-eyed silence, the crashes of the light show barely cracked through the embarrassed blood roaring through her ears.

The wet pop of separating lips followed by muffled words, forced the blonde to crank her neck in response, “I’m sorry? I didn’t get that.” 

“I asked if you could take a group picture of us,” Mabel repeated. Grenda sat blissed-out next to her. Lipstick smeared all over her face and neck, with a matching scene on Mabel’s lips. The blonde felt bile rise in her throat at the sight. She swallowed it down with a thick gulp and took a sip from a nearby can of Pit Cola. The bubbles burned her nose and throat and made her cough. Dipper slapped her on the back, which didn’t help at all whatsoever. 

“Yeah, sure,” she finally managed to croak out, “Everyone gather together.” The two couples sandwiched the blonde between them. Pacifica’s camera was held out in an outstretched arm, waiting for the perfect moment. 

In a flash, a huge red firework went off, lighting up the night. The click of the shutter sounded, and she turned the camera back around to get a look. Grenda and Mabel looked meaningfully into each other's eyes. Candy squished her face against Dipper’s who’s awestruck mouth and eyes were cast into the night sky. And there was Pacifica in the middle, a convincing smirk upon her lips. The blonde was grateful for the space in between the fireworks. In the dark, no one could see her scowl and cringe and the faces staring back at her, captured in time. She passed the picture around for the others to admire. 

“Paz oh my gosh. I _need_ this picture for my scrapbook,” Mabel exclaimed, holding the camera mere centimeters away from her face. 

“Yeah, I’ll make sure it gets printed off for you,” Pacifica responded, tired. The camera made its way back to her. Mabel and Grenda went back to their enthusiastic making out. The blonde tried her best to distract herself by scrolling through the other pictures. 

Most of the photos on that camera were ones she had taken for the yearbook. All her peers stared back at her, but there were a couple more recent ones that were taken of Pacifica herself. Admittedly, ever since she had been cast out of her ancestral home, the desire to grab her camera hadn’t itched at her as much as usual, but it was obvious _someone_ had taken to documenting her life. There were pictures from when she dyed her hair, candid pictures of her in every pose and every light. There were a couple from the day before of her playing mini-golf, so it stood to reason that Mabel was the photographer. How she hadn’t noticed Mabel using it eluded her, but they were pretty good photos, so she didn’t care. She continued to flick through them. A few of them were from that very afternoon. Pacifica behind the counter, Pacifica with her hat on, Pacifica sitting at the table with the police men. 

The one thing all the photos had in common was their sense of intimacy. Each one was taken by someone who knew the girl like the back of their hand. Which angles were her best, the way her hair looked in the breeze. It both warmed her heart as well as confused her. She opened her mouth to question her friend when- 

“I love you,” Grenda whispered, loud enough for Pacifica to hear. The blonde wondered if she did that on purpose just to make her jealous, but she was actually more focused on the look of absolute joy that was apparent on Mabel’s face. 

“Don’t say it,” Pacifica muttered to herself, “Please don’t say it.” But it was futile. 

“I love you too,” Mabel whispered back, barely able to contain her excitement. 

Welp. That was it for Pacifica Northwest. Earlier she had thought the only thing Grenda had that she didn’t was kindness, but it was now obvious that bravery and emotional intelligence were points in the other girl’s favor as well. All she could do was stare blankly ahead, open mouthed, as the two lover’s went back to their PDA. 

Fireworks still boomed around them. Candy and Dipper continued to ooh and ahh. “America the Beautiful” blared from a neighbor’s stereo. The maroon hat still sat firmly on Pacifica's dirty blonde head. It was everything else that had changed.

Life, liberty, **_AND_ **the pursuit of happiness? 

Yeah right, Jefferson. Get real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up within the next two weeks, so be on the lookout for that. 
> 
> Again, go ahead and leave me some comments or even message me on Tumblr. I'm a narcissist who loves talking about myself and my work lol 
> 
> Also, just as like, a thing, I rewatched Gravity Falls last week, and I'm thinking of putting Bill and Ford and all that back into the canon of this fanfic. It wouldn't really have any effect on anything other than just some references here and there. Idk. Let me know what you think. It wouldn't be that huge of a change, but still.


	6. Bought and Paid For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said two weeks to the next chapter and it's here in one surprise! 
> 
> *Captain Crunch voice* Oops! All emotional manipulation. 
> 
> Anyway, you already know what the heck is going on. 
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=4hrxSOC3S3ab4i04SwqZUA  
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> I love them kudos and comments! Love to hear from you guys!

This was becoming unsustainable. Especially so, when Pacifica’s own entrepreneurial ambitions were factored in. Sure, it was only the middle of July, and things would slow down with the beginning of the school year, but that was still a month and a half away. The blonde had _plans_ : an expanded menu, merch, coupons, groupons, frequent customer rewards, _delivery._ But currently, her and Dipper versus the snack shack’s consistent popularity was a battle she was wearing out on. 

It was the evening after another day of steady service. With Dipper passed out on the couch exhausted and sweaty, Pacifica was left alone at the kitchen table, deep in thought. She was awaiting the return of Wendy, who the blonde had recently learned had a previously unknown and intriguing skill. One that Pacifica was interested in taking part in. The redhead had run home to fetch the necessary equipment, allowing Pacifica a little time to herself. 

“Yes,” she thought, mentally crunching the numbers, “Definitely unsustainable. Probably going to have to hire someone else. But who…” Wendy and Soos already worked at the Shack proper, so they were an option. She could just convince Stan to add food service to the shift rotation. Then again, Wendy, although beloved, was notorious for being apathetic and unreliable in an employment sense. Soos, on the other hand, had a very specific set of skills, none of which seemed to really suit him for serving up burgers. 

The girl sighed and absentmindedly fiddled with the brown button on the cuff of her flannel shirt. Well, it was actually Dipper’s. The night was cool, and the blonde once again raided his wardrobe for the shirt in question. The soft fabric draped loosely over her frame. Buttons were mismatched together with incorrect buttonholes. It felt like wearing a hug. 

“I’ll have to get one of these for myself one of these days,” she thought before her mind was once more consumed with thoughts of conducting very serious business. 

It was becoming obvious to her that it would be best to hire someone from outside the Mystery Shack family, as scary a prospect that may be. Then again, it wasn’t like she would be hiring an outright stranger. Those people didn’t exist in Gravity Falls. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a D sharp minor chord made it’s anxieties known. It would be strange to be someone’s boss for real. She was _technically_ Dipper’s boss, but he didn’t count, considering how the boy could go toe to toe with Pacifica in terms of who was the bigger bossy pants. 

She pulled out her phone, shooting a quick text to Mabel that said, “U wanna make some flyers for me? We’re going to be taking on a new hire.”

Not a second later, her phone buzzed with a response, “YES!!!!” followed by a barrage of emojis. Mabel had a date with Grenda that night; the couple went to see a movie, if Pacifica remembered correctly. She wondered what the brunette’s girlfriend, and the other theater patrons for that matter, thought about the girl pulling her phone out in the middle of what was supposed to be a quiet, intimate experience. 

“Look how eager she is to answer your every call,” so mocked a deep-voiced member of the greek chorus. 

“Shut up,” Pacifica muttered in response, “You know how easily Mabel gets distracted. She’d be excited to get a spam email just because it would be something new to look at.” 

Before the discussion with the voices in her head could go any further, the front door to the shack slammed open to reveal Wendy. The sound was enough to rouse Dipper from his slumber, and the two girls laughed as he flailed in surprise, ultimately face planting into the carpet. 

The redhead tapped his side lightly with her foot, “Dude, are you ok?” 

He groaned in response, then picked up his head to reveal a reddening forehead where it thunked on the ground, “Yeah, I’m doin’ great,” he wheezed, “Maybe I’ll continue my nap down here.” He shut his eyes, and was once again snoring away. Wendy and Pacifica chuckled, as the former sat across the table from the latter. 

“You ready for this, girl,” Wendy asked salaciously. She smirked and quirked a thick eyebrow. 

Pacifica scoffed, “I was born ready.”

“I don’t know,” the redhead sing-songed, narrowing her eyes, “I don’t think you’re _tough_ enough.” 

Pacifica was a lot of things, maybe coward was one of them. In her deepest thoughts, in the middle of her darkest most sleepless nights, the girl posited to herself that maybe she disguised her faintheartedness as pride. No she couldn’t fight the malevolent ghost of the man who built her family’s house; she might chip a nail. 

But, every cowardice had an emotional override. In Pacifica’s case, it was the prospect of a challenge. She knew Wendy was only teasing her, but even in her current state, a Northwest was never made to be less than. 

“Bring out the needle,” the blonde said, resolute and serious. She rolled up the right sleeve of the borrowed shirt, still maintaining eye contact with the older girl. 

“Oh wait,” Wendy started, “you probably would want this on your non-dominant hard. Can’t exactly flip burgers very well with a healing wrist.”

“I’m left handed.”

“A south-paw,” the other girl responded, leaning back slightly in surprise, “I guess I should have known.” Wendy’s brown eyes stared meaningfully into Pacifica’s steely blues, “Alright blondie, one last chance to back out.” An intensely determined face was the only response she received.

“Okaaayy, you asked for it,” Wendy said. She slammed a heavy tool box on the counter. The table’s legs wobbled from the sudden force. Throwing open the lid, a wide array of ink of every color and needles or every length and thickness were revealed. Pacifica chewed her bottom lip in anticipation and evaluated all her choices, eyes wide. 

Wendy’s fingers selected the pure black ink, “You still want to go with what we talked about?” 

“You got it.” 

The redhead’s face turned serious as she took the blonde’s forearm in her hand, the other dipping a needle into the ink, “This is gonna hurt a little.” 

“I have impeccable pain tolerance.” And with that, Pacifica watched unblinking as the tip of the needle pierced her skin for the first of many times. 

A little later into the evening, Wendy still diligently worked on putting ink to skin. Dipper had awoken, and Pacifica heard him yawn and pad into the kitchen, presumably looking for a snack. The phone clicked from where it was taken off the wall.

“Hey I’m thinking of ordering a pi- _WHOA, is that a stick and poke tattoo_?” Pacifica felt that it was kind of obvious, and turned around in her seat to shoot him a look to say so.

Wendy’s steady hand gripped hers more tightly, halting her movement, “Hold still, blondie. Dipper, chillax. I’ve done this loads of times. One time, I dared Thompson to let me tattoo a butt on his butt. Of course he went for it,” the redhead laughed, not even looking up from her work. The blonde muttered out an embarrassed ‘sorry’. Her brunette friend moved around the table so they could be face to face. His wide-eyed curiosity reminded Dipper of an owl, dark feathery hair and all. 

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ve felt worse.” The blonde watched his eyes momentarily flick to the skin under her skin that was slowly but surely scaring over. Ever since the fourth of July, she elected to stop rebandaging it. There wasn’t really anymore risk of it splitting open anymore, and Pacifica knew she would just forget to change the dressings anyway. Besides. Chicks digged scars, and Pacifica digged chicks. Ergo, more scars, more chicks. 

A second passed. The girl continued to look expectantly at her friend, who was still so enraptured by the ever growing picture on the side of Pacifica’s right wrist. 

“What’s it a tattoo of,” he asked absentmindedly, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Wendy dipped the needle first into ink, then into sensitive pale skin. 

Pacifica gave him a sly grin, “I’ll let you look when it’s done.”

“What like it’s some kind of secret?”

“Just let me have this-”

“Guys, if you start bickering, my concentration will completely break. I’ve got a good rhythm going here,” Wendy cut in, “So I’m just going to ask you to stop before you even get the chance.” Pacifica snapped her mouth shut and slumped down in the chair, being careful to keep her arm steady. 

It was then that she realized how hungry she was. A day of hard work will do that to someone, and the girl hadn’t gotten the chance to eat since noon. The clock was now rounding on eight in the evening. Time for dinner.

Stomach growling, “I think you were going to say something about a pizza,” she asked.

Dipper finally snapped out of his trance, “Yeah, I was. What kind do you want?” He walked back over to the phone and began punching in the number for Gravity Falls’ only pizza joint.

Pacifica contemplated for a moment, then answered, “Oh gosh. My parents and I used to have this great wood fired one with apricots, prosciutto, and honey and...uh...what…” She trailed off, made uncomfortable by the blank stares she received from Dipper and Wendy. 

“What kind of pizza do you want, Pacifica,” Dipper asked again. 

“Sausage if fine,” she relented.

“Sausage it is,” the boy replied, relaying the message to the person on the other end of the line. 

Eventually, the pizza arrived and Wendy finished up the work on her arm. The three friends sat eating on the couch, eyes glazed over watching the home shopping network. 

“ _You gotta get ‘Owl Trowel’_ ,” blared the TV.

“Dipper,” Pacifica said around a mouthful of cheese and sausage, “how would you feel about me hiring someone else to work with us?”

“ _What?! You mean I won’t be the sole recipient of all your managerial love and affection anymore? How COULD you_ ,” he snarked. 

“Haha good one dude,” Wendy laughed, punching the boy in the side. Pacifica was not amused. 

“So I assume you’d be down for that.” 

“Yes I’d be down for that.” 

“Good.”

Just then, the sound of tires on gravel sounded from the yard outside. Pacifica knew it was Grenda’s truck; the blonde had memorized the sound that particular car made on the rocks, characterized by the certain weight of the vehicle itself paired with the certain tread of the tires. It was like an alarm for her: hear the tires, prepare for the onslaught of Mabel describing her date in excruciating detail. 

There was a slight difference that time. Not in the tires rumble of the truck itself, but in the sound that followed. Usually, Mabel spent forever talking and making out with her girlfriend in the front seat, trying to prolong their date indefinitely. This time, however, the slam of a car door came almost immediately after the popping of gravel stopped. 

“Huh. I guess Mabel’s back,” she said offhand. The three friends’ focus was still focused on whatever bogus product was being hawked to them through the television. 

Seconds after she closed her mouth, the front door of the shack slammed open to reveal the fuming form of Mabel Pines. 

At his twin’s appearance, Dipper leaned over Wendy to stare at the blonde. “How did you know that,” he questioned, aghast. 

“Just a hunch,” Pacifica responded, desperately shoving a new piece of pizza in her mouth to avoid word-vomiting her potentially embarrassing memory. Her face turned red and she desperately tried to avoid the boy’s suspicious gaze. 

A strangled growl came from the direction of the brunette girl. Stomping, she stopped right in front of the three, blocking their view of the tv. 

“Mabel, could you move? I’m trying to see the number to call for these spray-on abs,” Dipper said annoyed, stretching to look around his twin. He didn’t notice the nervous looks the other two couch-dwellers were giving him, or the searing anger ever-growing on Mabel’s face. Aside from the blare of the TV, no one dared make a sound. 

Dipper, growing increasingly bothered, reached forward in an attempt to push the girl out of the way. Luckily, Wendy roughly dragged him back onto the couch by the scruff of his neck, forcing the boy to stare fearfully into Mabel’s furious visage.

Pacifica, though momentarily taken aback by the anger emanating from her crush, saw an opportunity to poke the bear. 

“Oh Mabel! Didn’t see you there,” she started nonchalantly. The blonde took a moment to inspect her nails. A desperate hiss of ‘shutupshutupshutup’ squeaked out of the two sitting beside her. 

The former socialite cleared her throat and absentmindedly scratched the side of her head, “How was your date?” The other girl snapped her head to meet Pacifica’s eyes, practically letting out a growl. 

“It was...fine…,” she said in a way that made it obvious that it wasn’t, “ _You_ .” A pink, glittery nail was thrust centimeters away from Wendy’s face, “I need some _girl talk_ . _NOW_.” And away Mabel went, stomping up the stairs. And Stan said Pacifica was the one with the lead foot.

“Uh uh ok,” the redhead whimpered, quickly clamoring off the couch to catch up with the brunette. With the middle seat free, the other two residents of the couch immediately melted over any available space, draping over themselves in the process. Pacifica did her best to once again focus on the TV. 

Obviously, Pacifica’s assessment of the quality of Grabel’s date had been correct on at least some level. One doesn’t come bursting through the door like the Kool-Aid man when a date goes _well_. All she knew, though, was that they had dinner and saw a movie, so it didn’t seem like there was ample time for events to go sideways. 

The blonde knew it was mean to do, but in the back of her mind there was a scoreboard between herself and Grenda. Maybe tonight wasn’t necessarily a touchdown for Pacifica, seeing as she hadn’t actually done anything, but it sure wasn’t for Grenda either. With every misstep or poorly chosen word, Pacifica’s fingers stretched ever closer to that green light. 

She puffed up her shoulders and threw back dirty blonde locks, throwing some right into Dipper’s face. Considering what Pacifica knew about the caliber of Grenda’s conversational skills...she figured it wouldn’t be a stretch to surmise that there were a myriad of poorly chosen words. 

If only Pacifica knew exactly what the brunette was so worked up about. Knowledge is power, and every little bit helped to tip the scales. Unfortunately, the blonde was willing to needle Mabel until the end of time. But to actually break her trust and eavesdrop on her heart to heart with Wendy? Well...not without an accomplice.

She glanced at Dipper. He absentmindedly gnawed on a piece of pizza, mind once again overtaken by the wonders of television. Business partners were about to extend to partners in crime. Now, how to crack the boy’s stubborn nut of a resolve. 

In the middle of constructing a convincing argument in her head, “You want to know what they’re talking about, don’t you,” Dipper asked, not even tearing his eyes away from the screen. Oh. Apparently there was no convincing needed. 

“I could be talked into it,” she replied, a sly look on her face. 

“It’s just, can I be honest?” Were they about to have a heart to heart themselves? Kind of interesting timing. That’s just what true friendship was, the blonde surmised: having an emotional conversation anytime anywhere. 

“What do you know about real friends,” said the Greeks. 

She ignored them, “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

Dipper put down his pizza and turned to Pacifica so they could talk face to face. The intimacy made the girl feel awkward and she tried very hard to stop her fight or flight response from activating. 

“It’s just that,” he started, shifting to a cross legged position, “Ever since Mabel and Grenda started dating, I’ve felt like she’s stopped coming to me about things that are bothering her and stuff. Not just bad stuff either, but I feel like I don’t really hear about her life in general a lot of the time. I mean, back when we were kids, we used to talk about _everything_. Now she always wants to talk with Wendy or Grenda or you-”

“Mabel and I don’t really have heart to hearts,” she cut in, “sorry for interrupting.” 

“It’s fine,” Dipper reached forward to intwine their fingers, “I know you really care about her.” His palms were clammy against Pacifica’s. Normally, she would be grossed out, but clamminess was just... _so Dipper_...that she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Go on.” 

“Right. I mean, obviously it’s partially just a symptom of growing up, but I’m still her brother. I’m still here for her. I’m _always_ going to be there for Mabel.” 

Pacifica thought about that for a minute. She wasn’t in any place to give advice, nor had she ever been particularly good at it. The blonde was confident that Dipper knew this, and yet, he still sought out her counsel, so for his sake, she would try to actually think of something constructive.

“Well, I think you should share your feelings with Mabel. Obviously not tonight, but soon, I would think. I wouldn’t be surprised if she feels the same way about you.”

The boy scratched at the back of his scruffy head, “I _guess_ , but I don’t have a lot of stuff going on in my life like she does.” 

“You said it yourself. Don’t you wish you and Mabel still talked about everyday stuff too.”

“Yeah…,” he admitted, bowing his head, “I guess you’re right.” Pacifica squeezed his clammy hand in reassurance. 

“Do you,” he said, looking up from underneath his mop of brown hair, “still want to listen to what they’re saying?” 

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I. Let’s go.”

The two friends rushed out of the living room before carefully making their way upstairs and coming to a stop just outside the attic bedroom. They pushed their ears up against the wood. Pacifica prayed a splinter wouldn’t give her another piercing. Muffled, they heard the two girls talking.

“ _But don’t you still talk to Mermando,”_ Wendy questioned. She could hear Mabel scoff at that.

“ _It’s so not the same! Mermando is married and we’re just friends. I totally saw a message from Marius begging Grenda to break up with me!_ ” Dipper and Pacifica made shocked eye-contact at that revelation. 

“ _Are you sure you aren’t just misinterpreting the situation?”_ Oh Wendy, you sweet pacifist. There was no talking alternate possibilities with a rage-drunk Mabel Pines. 

“Paz, we should stop,” Dipper said, tugging lightly on the sleeve of the flannel. 

“In a second.” 

“ _And the worst part was that Grenda didn’t even respond to his text!_ ”

“ _How is that a bad thing…?_ ” Good question, Wendy. How _is_ that a bad thing?  
“ _Well_ ,” Pacifica could hear her crush becoming more and more agitated with every word, “ _She should have told him off. She could have said back like, ‘dude I totally have a girlfriend so back off’ or something, but she didn’t even do that much!”_ The brunette paused for a moment, forcing the blonde to press ever more tightly against the door. Mabel continued, voice tight. It sounded like she was trying not to cry, “ _And Pacifica...she just…”_

“Oh shit,” the Northwest girl mumbled. 

“What,” Dipper whispered back.

“She’s about to say something about me,” but before Pacifica could listen in further, she was suddenly yanked away from the door. Annoyed, the girl came face to face with an equally angry Dipper. 

Still speaking in hushed tones, “Don’t give me that look. I’m saving you from yourself,” the boy hissed. 

Brow furrowed, “It’s my heart to break. In fact, thanks to you, I'm going to go insane from not knowing,” she said back.

“Doesn’t matter. Friends don’t let friends self-sabotage.” Dipper crossed his arms, leaving no room for arguing. All Pacifica could do was huff as she followed him back downstairs. 

Once again, the two friends sprawled over the couch and each other, allowing their minds to once more be absorbed by infomercials. 

Hours later, Wendy left, shooting a quick wave goodbye in their direction. Mabel soon followed down the stairs, coming to a stop right in front of the couch. This time though, she looked more exhausted than anything else. Dressed in flannel shorts and an oversized t-shirt, the brunette covered a yawn. 

“Paz, it’s late. Are you coming to bed soon?” The blonde slowly tore her heavy lidded eyes away from the screen, focusing on the brunette in front of her. A light ‘hmmm?’ escaped her throat. 

“I asked if you were coming to bed.” Pacifica pulled out her phone to check the time; it was one in the morning. She glanced next to her, seeing Dipper had once again fallen asleep, lightly snoring with a drop of drool at the corner of his mouth. She nodded, slowly came to her feet, stretched, and followed Mabel upstairs. 

The blonde soon found herself under the covers with the other girl. She twisted around so she was facing Mabel’s back, “Hey Mabes?” She got a muffled grunt of acknowledgment. 

“Are you ok?” 

The lump of brown hair sighed, “I’ll be fine, Paz. Let’s just sleep.” 

That night, strange dreams plagued Pacifica once again. She walked the streets of Gravity Falls. It was midday and the sun was shining, but she was the only one out and about: no one else on the sidewalks, or in the businesses and alleys. 

Nonetheless, an ever-present unsettling presence kept creeping behind her ears and at the edges of her vision. Every time the girl frantically turned to confront it, there was nothing there. Just the abstract darkness quietly chanting her name in a scratchy whisper. 

_Pacifica. Pacifica. Pacifica._

“Hey, Pacifica.” Blue eyes snapping open, the girl was faced with the horror of Stan’s early morning maw, nose almost touching her nose. She screamed and flailed, trying to get as far away as possible, but pummeling her bunk mate in the process. Mabel groaned beside her, accosted by the other girl’s shrieks and beating. 

“Hey,” Stan started, but Pacifica still wasn’t calming down, “Hey, _HEY. KID. Calm down. It’s just me, your Grunkle Stan._ ” 

The blonde struggled to get her breathing back under control. “ _WHAT_ ,” she responded shakily. 

“I’m going grocery shopping,” the man slapped the small pad of paper in his hand, “What’s all this crap you wrote on here? I mean, hummus? _Arugula?_ That’s just stuff you rich people made up to make all us workin’ folk feel stupid.” 

Finally getting her bearings in order, an incredulous expression appeared on her face. Just as Pacifica was getting ready to ream Stan out, an arm shot out from the direction of the wall and across her chest, clutching the blonde’s right wrist in hand. 

Pacifica hissed as Mabel’s fingers dug into her newly healing skin, “Ow, Mabes be careful.” 

Slowly and robotically, the brunette ascended to a sitting position, eyes wide and inspecting the tattoo in front of her. “Pacifica...when...did you get a tattoo?” 

“You got a tattoo,” Stan joined in, leaning in even closer to get a good look, “Oh yeah. Did Wendy do that?” 

“Yeah…”

“Wendy did this,” Mabel exclaimed, “It’s cute.” The brunette ran a thumb over the small gemstone done in black ink. “Cuz diamonds are forever, right?” 

“Yeah, unless my mom is willing to break in in the middle of the night and _skin me_ …” Seeing the look on her companions faces, she decided that maybe it was too early for jokes like that.

Stan cleared his throat, trying to clear away the tension, “So I’m going to the store...does anyone need anything else?” 

“Smile Dip!!!”

“Absolutely not.”

“I need a new employee,” the blonde mentioned. 

“That’s your problem, not mine,” the con-man countered, finally making his way out of Pacifica’s personal space as well as out of the room. As far as she was concerned, that was as much as a go-ahead as she was going to get out of the man. 

Once again left alone, the brunette girl went back to carefully analyzing the brand-new tattoo, “Did this hurt?”

“Yes,” she wrenched her arm out of Mabel’s grip, “and it still does.” 

Later, in the middle of a slow shift, Dipper convinced Pacifica to take some time away. It was a Tuesday afternoon he reasoned, how busy could they get; Besides, it wasn’t like she was really taking the afternoon off. She had other managerial duties to attend to. The boy promised to call her for back up, if need be, but Pacifica doubted his pride would allow that. 

So, behind the faux wood desk in Stan’s grungy office, Pacifica leaned back into the squeaky, cracked, leather rolling chair. She was meticulously crunching the numbers for how much she could pay the new hire. Oregon’s minimum wage was $11.25. It didn’t seem like she could stretch much beyond that, as guilty as it made her feel. The blonde would just have to suck it up and be as shrewd a businessman as Stan. She couldn’t leave any room for negotiation, but she just needed to reframe the position in just the right way. 

Patty flipper at the snack shack? Absolutely not. Assistant chef at Gravity Falls’ hottest new eatery was more like it. 

“Shit,” the girl muttered to herself, letting her head fall onto the dusty formica desk. She hadn’t even gotten around to factoring benefit. 

A loud pounding sounded from the front door. Desperate for a distraction, Pacifica zipped down the stairs leaving a shouted ‘I’ll get it’ in her wake. She pulled open the door to reveal Grenda, hand poised to once again punch holes in the large wood door. 

“Oh! Hey, Grenda. Mabel’s out right now-”

“I know that. I came here to see you,” the girl yelled in her usual gruff voice. 

“...why…?” 

The other girl shoved a crumpled piece of paper into Pacifica’s hands. Upon examination, she realized it was a resume. The blonde scrunched up her brow and looked back up at Grenda, an inquisitive look on her face. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. 

Grenda shouldered past her into the hall of the shack, “You’re hiring, right?” 

Pacifica was right. This was getting a little suspicious. The only people she told about her intentions to take on a new worker were the other residents of the Mystery Shack. The only way Grenda could have known is if Mabel told her. 

“Uh yeah, but I haven’t really posted anything about it yet...how did you find out?” 

“I know you texted Mabel about it yesterday,” Grenda said. 

“What, I can’t text my friend,” the blonde countered, throwing her hands in the air.

“Right...friend.” The stand-off continued, “Mabel doesn’t know I’m here.” How curious. Pacifica didn’t believe her.

Grenda surely picked up on that feeling, “I...uh...she didn’t tell me about it...I swear.”

“Explain.” 

The other girl finally broke their staring contest, instead looking away to hide her reluctance. Pacifica wasn’t going to let this know, and after a couple seconds, Grenda stomped her foot and continued, “Look. It’s really hard to not get distracted when someone opens their phone in the middle of a dark theater. So, I briefly glanced at her messages. Sue me that I wanted to get a jump on the competition.”

“You want to work here.” Pacifica clarified. Grenda nodded. “With me.” Another nod. “Whom you _hate_.” 

“Aww no I don’t hate you.” 

“Don’t beat around the bush.”

The brunette scoffed, “Fine. You’re not my favorite person in the world, but I need a job, and you’re desperate to hire.”

“ _Hey_ , I’m not _desperate-_ ,” Pacifica protested, but was cut off. 

“It’s just,” Grenda looked sheepishly down at the hardwood floor. The blonde knew what was coming. How did she keep finding herself in emotionally vulnerable conversations. She tried her best to seem as cold as possible in order to avoid these exact circumstances. Still, the girl continued, “Sometimes Mabel doesn’t see herself as someone who’s particularly special, which she is.” Pacifica nodded absentmindedly in agreement. “She deserves to have nice things, and as her girlfriend, I’d like to give her some.” 

A sour look briefly crossed Pacifica’s face. Damn, she sure didn’t like Grenda, but the girl could really pull off a good romantic gesture. 

“Fine,” the blonde finally spat, “I’ll interview you right now. Step into my office,” she said, leading the other girl upstairs. Plopping down in the desk chair, Pacifica gestured for Grenda to sit opposite her. The blonde slapped the resume on the desk, and after a brief second of skimming it, began the interview. 

“So do you have any relevant experience?” 

“No.” 

“Okay...what makes you a good fit for this position?” 

“I can beat people up who insult the food. I don't even have to beat them up. I can just lurk menacingly on their property.” 

Pacifica let a beat pass between them as she took that in. She desperately scribbled some crap on a notepad to look busy, but also to keep her hands from shaking due to the fury building up inside.

“Who is this reference,” she asked, squinting at the resume. It was handwritten in scrawling, impossible to read script, “Greta Grendinator…?”

“Oh,” the interviewee perked up, “that’s my mom!”

Alright enough of this, the blonde thought to herself, internally seething. She abruptly stood up from the chair and held out her hand for a shake. 

“Alright! Thanks so much Grenda. I’ll get back to you!” Her outstretched hand was engulfed in a vice grip from Grenda’s enormous one. It hurt. _A lot_. Pacifica had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. 

“Thanks so much! You won’t regret this,” Grenda said, shaking the manager’s hand with enough force to cause a tsunami. Then, after the sounds of retreating thundering steps finally faded away, Pacifica was once again left alone with her dilemma. The terrible interview she had just conducted only added a whole new layer of hurt to the situation. 

The thing was, the blonde was truly caught in a Catch 22. The snack shack totally needed the extra help; that was unquestionable. So, hiring Grenda would relieve some of the stress she and Dipper were being crushed by. But, Pacifica hated Grenda, so hiring her would just compound the time the blonde had to spend around her, not to mention that the other girl was wholly unqualified and in fact posed more of a liability due to her aggressive nature.

Grenda told Pacifica to her face that Mabel did not know she was going to apply for the job because then Grenda would have had to admit to peeking at her girlfriend’s messages. It stood to reason that Grenda wouldn’t tell her now that the interview had been conducted. Thus, if Pacifica declined to hire the girl, there was a chance that Mabel wouldn’t find out about it at all. 

“Fat chance,” said the Greek Chorus. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Pacifica. 

Grenda would totally tell Mabel she applied to work for Pacifica. _Then,_ if Pacifica didn’t hire Grenda, she would be faced with an upset and confused Mabel, questioning why the other girl thought her girlfriend wasn’t good enough. What was it about Grenda that Pacifica didn’t see fit? Was the blonde letting her own personal feelings get in the way of her business dealings? Despite everything she’d been through, was Pacifica somehow still lording herself over the citizens of Gravity Falls? Was Pacifica regressing back into the girl she’d been when they’d first met? 

The former heiress could argue that she was avoiding nepotism. Mabel would argue back that Pacifica herself landed her position, not to mention a roof over her head, due to her personal relationship with the Pines family. Grenda was not incompetent, Mabel would protest, and it’s frankly incredibly offensive that she would think that. 

But Mabel was always one to wear rose-colored glasses…plus, she didn’t even work at the snack shack so who was she to dictate how it was run and who worked there. 

Pacifica groaned, and let her head sink into her palms. She could feel the beginnings of a headache forming, and decided to seek counsel from her closest confidant. 

There were no customers to be seen when the blonde walked behind the counter of the snack shack, just Dipper leaning against the griddle, scrolling through something on his phone. 

“Don’t you have something you could be cleaning?” The boy shrieked at the sudden interruption, which made Pacifica snicker. 

“I’m totally joking lol. I need some advice.” 

“No, I don’t think you should cut off your bangs,” he replied, still in his reclined position. 

“Wha-no. It’s about getting a new employee. Also, you don’t cut bangs to get rid of them. You grow them out.” 

“Huh,” the boy scratched his chin, enlightened, “Had no idea. But what about this mysterious newcomer? Is there someone in the running?” 

“Yeah, Grenda.” 

“Mabel told her,” Dipper blurted out. 

“No! I actually don’t think she did,” Pacifica exclaimed. The shocked expression returned to the face of her friend. She continued, “Something about reading Mabel’s texts from me...or something, but she came here, unannounced I might add, with a chicken-scratched resume and I interviewed her. She _bombed_.” 

“So don’t hire her,” the brunette boy responded. He adjusted his cap, then dragged a finger down the side of the fry vats. It came away greasy. Dipper reached forward, wiping his dirty finger on Pacifica’s arm, who slapped his hand away in response. 

“But if I don’t hire her, Mabel will get upset.” 

“This isn’t about her.” Instead of speaking, Pacifica pursed her lips and crossed her arms. Dipper’s eyes went wide with exasperation, “ _Pacifica_ , not _everything_ is about Mabel.” She continued to avoid his gaze. 

“You know what, Paz?” 

“What?”

“Hire her.”

“Are you serious,” the blonde gaped at him. Dipper and Grenda weren’t enemies, but the boy wouldn’t say he was her number one fan either. If anything, he was more annoyed with his sister’s yammering on about ‘St.Grenda’ than Pacifica was, considering he had to listen to it year round.

“Yes, I’m serious. Swallow your pride, girl” he popped open a bag of chips, shoved a handful in his face, then continued with a full mouth, “Besides, it could be good for both of us. We need the help. Plus,” a shoulder shrug, “I know what we heard last night was...interesting...but Mabel’s not going to give up that relationship after a single misstep, so I don’t think they’re going to break up anytime soon. You and I need to learn to, at the very least, tolerate Grenda.” 

Pacifica sighed, “Yeah, I-I know. But like, nepotism, though…”

“This is a family business. You and I both work for my great uncle. If anyone was ever upset that we kept our social circle small, they’re probably over it now.” 

The blonde sucked on her teeth before finally stalking away, “I guess I have to go make a call,” she threw back over her shoulder. Pacifica made her way into the kitchen. Hand on the phone, she took a deep centering breathe, then picked up the phone and dialed the dreaded number. A gravely ‘hello’ sounded from the receiver. 

“Hey, Grenda? Yeah, It’s Pacifica,” the girl gulped, “When can you start?” 

Later that night, she, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel sat around the kitchen table, sharing a meal of some mystery meat Stan dug out from the bowels of one of the cabinets. It was nice, being able to enjoy some time together, observing how everyone played off one another. 

The group reached a lull in conversation. Around a spoonful of ‘meat’, “Oh Paz, by the way. I wanted to thank you for giving Grenda that job.” 

Pacifica dragged the sludge around her plate, knowing her body wouldn’t be able to tolerate such toxic waste, “Yeah, of course. I’m sure Dipper and I will start aching less.”

Mabel blushed, “Yeah...I didn’t want to pressure you into hiring her or anything, so I told Grenda not to tell you I basically peer pressured her into applying.” The brunette laughed her bubbly laugh, but suddenly Pacifica found no humor in the situation. 

“ _What_ .” The blonde stiffly set down her silverware and gripped _hard_ onto the edge of the table. 

Mabel’s face didn’t fall an inch, “I told Grenda that you would hire her. Obviously I didn’t want you to feel forced, otherwise I would have just come to you myself.” 

The blonde felt every single muscle in her body tense up, “Grenda told me specifically that you didn’t say anything to her.” Out of the corner of her eye, Pacifica noticed Stan and Dipper staring intently down at their plates of food, terrified of being dragged into the gathering storm. 

“ _Yeah. I know, Pacifica,”_ Mabel said, gathering up another spoonful of slop, “ _I told her to lie_.” 

Volume raising with every word, the former heiress was finding it very hard to stop herself from vaulting the table to get to Mabel, “I should fire her. I can’t believe you lied to me!” 

“ _I didn’t_ , _Grenda did._ ”

“Oh, so you’re proud to make your girlfriend the scapegoat?! You lied to my face Mabel. By proxy, sure, but you lied to my face.” 

It infuriated the blonde that the girl sitting across from her was still as nonchalant as could be, “Paz, it doesn’t even matter. You would have hired her whether I made you or not, and...you did...so...what else is there to talk about?” God, Pacifica’s body just begged to sock the girl right in the face for betraying her trust. Hypocrite that she was, for listening in on Mabel and Wendy’s private conversations the night before. But-but, Mabel straight up manipulated the situation!

In a flash, Pacifica was up from the table and out the door into the night and into the woods. Tears collected and flew away with the wind as the blonde sank further into the trees, fists clenched tight enough to break skin in perfect crescent moons. Barefoot, she tore through the dirt, desperate to find a place only the creatures knew. 

“Mabel was right,” she thought, “She has you so perfectly wrapped around her little finger that you would never dream of doing anything that upset her in the slightest, even to the detriment of yourself.” It was true! Even _if_ Mabel hadn’t emotionally stabbed Pacifica in the back, she still probably would have hired Grenda, because it was what Mabel would have wanted her to do. _It didn’t matter_ that Grenda’s story was shaky at best, because Pacifica was willfully bound to follow through on her crush’s every whim. Through all her mental gymnastics and agonizing over what to do, the blonde had effectively 4D-chessed herself into a decision. 

A bellowing scream startled the birds and the deer of the forest. Most of all, Pacifica was sad. Mabel _knew_ that she was barely holding it together, but she still exploited Pacifica’s feeling when it was obvious the blonde had barely any self-assurance to speak of. 

She picked up a rock and chucked it at a tree. Then another, and another. Then ten more. She kept throwing those rocks at those trees until her shoulder throbbed. Breathing heavily and still openly sobbing, Pacifica made her way back to the shack. Better to be miserable in a familiar place than out in multi-bear territory. 

That night, the girl laid awake, tossing and turning, desperate for an ounce of sleep. The living room couch it seemed, would not give up that easily. Left alone with her thoughts, Pacifica was once again forced to evaluate the ripples her decisions had made. Having Grenda behind the counter was effectively damning herself and Dipper to spend the rest of the Summer agonizing their existence, so really, what else was new? At least they could be miserable together. 

“You should stop thinking about this too hard. You’ll get wrinkles,” so said the Greeks. 

“Oh yeah? What else do I have to ponder,” came the response from the uncomfortable blonde. The living room couch was in no way optimized for spinal health. 

“Don’t you have...bigger plans?” Somewhere in the back of her pretty blonde head, a dark-haired, toga-wearing fool grinned. 

“Huh. Well I do have a lot of ideas to increase sales…” 

“Aww, Pazzzz. Please can we drive the beemer,” Dipper begged a couple days later, doing his best attempt at doe-eyes. 

“Stop that. It makes you look like a donkey,” she snapped at him. The boy’s face quickly morphed into an offended one. “That is _my car_ ,” she said, dropping her voice down considerably and doing a quick sweep of the area to look for cops, “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

“That’s like, totally lame of you Pacifica…” Grenda added-in, crossing her arms. 

“ _I said NO_ ,” the boss babe responded, firm and finite, turning sharply to the offending girl, “We have a perfectly good company car.” 

“Oh no, you don’t mean…” 

“I dooo,” she sing-songed, a Stan Pines-esque shifty smile plastered on her face. She walked over to the golf cart, two grumbling and scoffing employees. She slapped a sparkly neon sticking bearing the company name on the side of the cart. 

“Say hello to the ‘Paz’s Snack Shack Burger Delivery Vehicle 9000’. 

A chorus of annoyed voices exploded into comments like, ‘The seats suck’ and ‘Is that thing even street legal?’. 

“ _ENOUGH_ ,” Pacifica yelled over the din. She adjusted the maroon cap atop dirty blonde locks. Clapping her hands together, smile still stuck on her face, she asked the immortal question.

“Who’s going to take this baby for a dry run?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, in like, a week and a half? Idk, probably before that. 
> 
> Anyway, don't be afraid to message me either on here or on my tumblr.
> 
> Also, I'll have a little something else coming soon ;)


	7. Secretary of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, part seven of my fight against Google docs correcting Grenda to Grenada every single time I type it. 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob  
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=kugTshGjRHSFr2fsY5KqGg
> 
> Don't really have a ton of notes. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

It had been pouring for days on end. With thunder and lightning to boot, Pacifica wondered if Vivaldi had been a secret time-traveler, visited that exact moment, thought to himself ‘holy shit that’s a lot of rain’, and then went back to Baroque times and composed Summer. Because that’s what it felt like. Well, maybe that’s what it had felt like the first couple days, but by day five of non-stop torrential onslaught, the novelty of a mid-Summer’s storm quickly wore off. 

So there Pacifica sat, clinging to one of Stan’s many windbreakers, furiously eating a peach on her break, the sourest of looks in her eyes. There was little repose to be found underneath one of their lawn umbrellas. Paired with the moistness of the wooden picnic table, she couldn’t really say it was comfortable at all. But it beat being ankle deep in mud behind the counter, even for just a measly 20 minutes. Due to its nature of being little more than a rented white tent over some counter space, the snack shack’s floor was the lawn of the Mystery Shack. That wasn’t great (or particularly sanitary) in any weather, but during the monsoon? Pacifica now had to add the threat of trench foot to her list of worries. 

“Looks like we’re adding fishing waders to the uniform,” she muttered to herself, taking another bite into the sweet flesh of the peach. The juice ran down her chin, getting lost in the rivulets of rain water running alongside it. 

There _was_ one sort-of upside to all the rain. It kept tourists inside, thus the shack proper, and the snack shack by extension, was seeing very little foot traffic. Instead, it became obvious that adding delivery to their list of services was a sound business decision on her part. The genius and savvy of Pacifica Northwest knew no bounds. Sure the golf cart hydroplaned like crazy and also had no windows, meaning that any food had to be wrapped in layers and layers of plastic bags to keep it dry, and visibility wasn’t really a thing unless it was perfectly sunny and daytime...but it brought in a lot revenue, so the whole experience was a net neutral at worst. She had extended delivery hours to ten at night to accommodate those late night snackers. Dipper and Grenda weren’t thrilled with that development; Pacifica didn’t care. 

The blonde refocused on what put the sour look on her face in the first place: Grenda. The working arrangement was going just about as well as she had expected: Poorly. She had been working there a week and a half, and although the girl’s actual skill level was higher than what Pacifica was expecting, there was one variable the Northwest girl should have been able to account for, but willfully overlooked. Mabel’s ability to completely drain anyone’s productivity was practically godlike, and it required divine intervention to stop her. 

Even now, Pacifica watched as Mabel sat on the counter talking to her girlfriend. It was less a travesty now, seeing as they were the only ones around, but this was no isolated incident. At any time of any work day, it would not be a strange sight to catch Mabel fraternizing with the employees. The blonde had been chewed out by neglected customers more times than she’d care to admit. Oh how she longed to just fire Grenda, but as her hiring had been a point of contention, so would her dismissal. 

Pacifica was just tired of it all. She and Mabel had made a shaky truce after the blonde couldn’t take anymore nights sleeping on the couch. She _could_ have started sharing a bed with Dipper, but simply being in the room with Mabel hurt just as much, if not more. She ached to be near Mabel, but it had been proven that getting to close ended in pain on the part of Pacifica. The best way to reconcile the situation was to not, and just accept her place under the covers, forever damned to awake with the brunette barnacled to her side: lovers with none of benefits. It was a hazy relationship to have indeed, only made worse by the fact that now the blonde couldn’t seem to get a moment alone from the other girl. 

Mabel had other friends. Pacifica wondered how Candy felt about all this. She hadn’t seen the other girl around much since their sleepover on the fourth. Maybe that was for the best, based on Candy’s Independence Day confession, Pacifica wasn’t really interested in her hanging around harassing her only other employee. 

She took one final bite of the peach, leaving only the pit. Pacifica placed it next to her on the bench and watched how it danced when hit with such large raindrops. 

“You were totally wishing that peach was, like, Mabel’s neck or something, weren’t you,” a sly member of the Greek chorus, whispered. 

“Horny today, aren’t we,” she whispered back. 

“I’m just saying that Mabel and you have this hot love-hate thing going on right now. The sexual tension is so thick, I couldn’t even hack through it with an ax. It makes every interaction you have with each other super awkward. Dipper’s noticed, Stan’s noticed, I don’t know if Grenda’s noticed. She seems a little...dim sometimes if you know wh-”

“Stop it,” Pacifica hissed to no one but the voices in her head, “It’s _awkward_ because things are tense between us now.” 

“And why are they tense.” The blonde felt like her own mind was trying to coax her onto a fainting couch, where she would then be psychoanalyzed by a quack Freudian psychologist. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” 

“So be it. You’ve got a call coming in anyway.” A faint buzzing erupted in the pocket of Pacifica’s windbreaker. She rifled around for t her phone, and lo and behold, an unknown number was lighting up the screen. If you had told the old Pacifica Northwest that she would soon be answering mysterious anonymous calls on the regular, she’d have spit in your face, laughing at your stupidity. As it was, Stan drew the monetary line at adding a whole new line to his already stingy phone plan. It had taken a day of pestering to convince him to add Pacifica’s cell phone. Thus, the blonde’s hand, and barren pockets, had been forced. Pacifica’s personal cell phone number was also the delivery hotline for the snack shack. 

She fished out a pad of paper and a pen front the many pockets of the jacket, “Paz’s Snack Shack. What can I whip up for you today?” A series of ‘uh-huh’s’ and ‘ok’s’ followed as she furiously scribbled down the order. 

“Alright, we’ll have that out to you in about half an hour. Ok. Buh-bye.” She hung up the phone and marched back behind the counter, hunched over to keep the rain out of her face.

“Hey Paz,” Mabel yelled at her from her seat atop the counter, “Can we play something else? This boring old people music is boring me.” Pacifica strained to hear what was playing over the constant roar of the sky: Shostakovich Five. 

“No way,” she responded, not even bothering to look in the girl’s direction, “I like it and I’m in charge. You can barely hear it over the rain anyway.” Grumbling came from the peanut gallery. “You know, I could just decide to play nothing at all. Then we’d all just have to work in stony silence,” she leveled Mabel with a searing glare, “Well, three of us will, that it.” No response, just more mumbled annoyance. 

Pacifica rolled her eyes, but turned her attention to Dipper, “We have a delivery order,” she handed over the slip, “I’m taking it. Trade phones with me in case someone calls while I’m gone.” 

“Yeah yeah. I know the drill,” the boy responded, handing over his cell. 

She smiled, plucking the phone from his fingers, “I’m going to have so much fun going through your browser history.” 

“ _HEY-”_

“I mean, you should really consider changing your password. Your birth year? Really Dipper? Three of the numbers are the same.” The boy sped off towards her, but Pacifica had already vaulted the counter and tore off towards the golf cart. The engine roared as she peeled away from the shack, wheels kicking up dirt, grass, and water in a muddy spray. “Don’t wait up,” she yelled behind her before turning her focus back to the road.

The ‘company car’ really was a bitch to operate. If Pacifica was being honest, the problem wasn’t the cart itself. How well could any vehicle operate in a category five hurricane? Dipper and Grenda had continued to beg for permission to drive the BMW, but the boss would not relent. It was _her car._ And it _was_ hers, but that was part of her point in the first place. 

Having the police sniff around on the fourth just reaffirmed a fact she had always know, but never truly appreciated; the Northwest’s ran Gravity Falls, and even if it so happened that the name on the title was Pacifica Elise Northwest, her dear parents, wouldn’t see that way, meaning that by extension, the cops wouldn’t either. 

Driving the beemer around was a luxury only for her, one of the few remnants of Pacifica’s past life. Maybe it was a little dangerous mentally to hang on to such memorabilia. But the car had an actual function. The few Northwest family jewels that were stolen for her were just jewels. All they did was sit there, look shiny, and carry a centuries long legacy of neglect, lies, and outright abuse. 

The cart weaved around the wet corners and back roads of Gravity Falls. The sun was beginning to set and streetlights were few and far between. Night fell upon the sleepy Oregon town with an ominous, yet quiet darkness. Every time Pacifica’s hand absentmindedly grazed the 24-karat-gold necklace that still hung so diligently around her neck, a void much scarier flooded her memories. 

Once more her fingers made their way to her throat. The cart continued to drift and skid in and around puddles and sharp turns. The wind and the rain buffeted Pacifica and made it hard for her to see where she was going. Working on muscle memory alone, the blonde drove blind, letting the rims smack again curbs in her trademark way. 

In an instant, the driver’s side wheels lifted from the pavement, nearly sending the whole thing careening into a ditch. Pacifica felt the adrenaline rise in her throat and clutched the golden charm in a tight first. The same moment the tires hit the ground again with a loud thud, she ripped the chain off her neck and threw it into the forest. It glittered in its flight, but was soon lost to time and the trees. 

Other than the small sting at the nape of her neck where the chain broke against it, Pacifica felt nothing from that act. Not the sheer horror a past her would feel at the blatant disregard for something valuable, nor the cathartic purge she was hoping for. The girl had so many other weights hanging around her neck that the disposal of one singular cursed object felt like the first step of a marathon; A good beginning, but it would get no easier from there. 

“Great, Pacifica,” she muttered to herself, rain drenched and miserable, “Now do the other 100.” A humorless laugh followed. 

Although many people lived in the town proper, those on the rural in and on the outskirts of the forest also happened to have Gravity Falls mailing addresses. Thus, Paz’s Snack Shack was obligated to deliver to them. After what felt like an eternity of driving, Pacifica finally reached the house and turned the cart onto a bumpy dirt driveway.

She walked somberly to the door of a small bungalow. There was no use in running to avoid the rain; she was already trenched to the bone. She rang the doorbell, the door opened, the customer and supplier made the expected transaction, the door was closed, and Pacifica felt completely wasted of her time. She had just spent roughly half an hour driving in the storm of the century to the middle of nowhere, just to have a ten second interaction to deliver a lukewarm burger. She didn’t even get a good tip out of it. 

Pacifica stared at the front door in cold, stony silence. So this is what NPC’s feel like. It took her even longer to drive back to the shack on account of the completely darkened sky. Thank god she had duct taped a flood light to the hood of the cart. Otherwise, that squirrel would have been obliterated. 

Three days later it was still pouring. Downed trees and flooding were commonplace, causing widespread power outages. A whole kitchen’s worth of pots and pans caught drips within the house, of which the constant pinging kept everyone awake and on edge. The lights of the shack flickered constantly, causing Pacifica to add seizures to her list of worries. The team had indeed invested in fishing waders, but with the constant humidity, the sweat inside the suit was near the same level as the rain water outside it. 

It was a 9:55 at night, and Pacifica’s hopes of a smooth getaway were dashed with the buzzing of her cell phone. She scribbled down the order, glancing up now and then to confirm that yes, it was still storming. 

“Dipper get some bags, you got a delivery,” she yelled. It was just herself and Dipper that evening. Foot traffic was at an all time low and it was no more efficient to have all three of them behind the counter. The boss lady had given Grenda the day off. She and Mabel were spending it doing god knows what. Pacifica didn’t care as long as the two of them were out of her way. 

Without _too_ much of a fuss, Dipper was out the door with the food. The futile squeal of tires on wet pavement faded into the night. It was officially closing time, and Pacifica went about the usual nightly routine of cleaning and prepping for the following day. Stan materialized to clear the register like he always did. The blonde burned her hands shutting off the temperamental griddle as usual. Checking off things as she went, soon enough, the snack shack was as spotless as possible and ready for another day of work. But the wicked never rest, and a whole stack of paperwork was waiting for Pacifica in Stan’s office, which the girl had quickly commandeered as her own. 

40 minutes later, Dipper still wasn’t back, “Well, he _is_ a much more careful driver than I am,” Pacifica thought, “Maybe he’s just being rightfully cautious. It _is_ a dark and stormy night. Plus, the address is kind of far.” She went back to pouring over the documents in front of her, gnawing on the tip of her pen. 

Another hour passed; it was almost midnight. She muttered still not looking up from the papers, “Maybe he’s actually back and I just didn’t hear him get home. I bet I’m going to walk downstairs and find him passed out on the couch with a half-melted pint of ice cream in his lap.” She went back to work, balancing budgets and calculating paychecks. 

Before she knew it, the blonde began to drift off. She was in that constant push and pull of wake and sleep, nodding off and then suddenly jolting back up again. Suddenly, Pacifica was resolutely shaken from her stupor by the loud chiming of her cell phone. She glanced at the screen, an unknown number, “This is Paz’s snack shack, we actually stopped taking orders at ten…,” her voice trailed off as she was interrupted by the person on the other line, “...oh...I see...where?...and you’re with him?...ok thanks for calling.” As quickly as the call came, it was hung up just as fast. A moment passed, silent aside from the plinking of rain water where it fell from a crack in the roof into a waiting sauce pan. Pacifica blinked, her mind racing to comprehend what she had just been told. 

“ **_GRUNKLE STAN??!!”_ **

“So tell me again what they told you,” the man asked in a frenzy. Pacifica’s hands braced to the inside door handle for dear life as Stan skidded and sped away into the night, right hand on the horn the entire time. The windshield wipers continued their desperate flap back and forth. The rain hadn’t given an inch, but from the way Stan drove, he was taking a mile and then some. 

“I think it was someone from out of town, otherwise we probably would have recognized each other’s voi **_CES JESUS CHRIST_ **,” she screamed as the Stan’s old jalopy swerved to avoid hitting a deer. Pacifica turned around and stared wide-eyed out the back window. The deer stared back at her, challenging them to take another pass. Breath high and tight in her terrified throat, she continued, “Anyway, I guess the flood light had given out on the head of the cart, because this guy said he didn’t see Dipper until it was too late.” Stan’s shoulders hunched higher and his grip on the steering wheel became more white-knuckled with each word. “Thank god for the rain and the night otherwise they would have been driving way faster, but apparently the collision was enough to send the cart, and Dipper with it, into a ditch on the side of the road.” 

“How’d they know to call us? I thought you said you think they’re not from around here,” Stan barked out, eyes drying to blaze a trail into the asphalt in front of them. 

“My number is written on the side of the cart. That’s why I think they’re a tourist or something, because if it had been a townie, they would have known who Dipper was and probably called our landline.” 

Pacifica nervously messed with the rings adorning her fingers. Stan huffed next to her, “Any news on injuries?”

She shook her head, “No. All they said was Dipper was delirious and in pain, but not knocked out. _Oh god._ ” The severity of it all finally caught up to her. Pacifica shouldn’t have made Dipper go out in the rain and dark. “It’s my fault this happened,” she blubbered out, tears falling freely from her steely blue eyes. 

“It’s mother nature’s fault is what it is,” Stan replied, “She could give us a break from this damn rain. And don’t you go all weepy on me now. I don’t want to see that. Mabel won’t want to see that. Dipper _especially_ won’t want to see that, you know how he is.” 

Pacifica sniffled some more and wiped away her tears with the edge of her hand, not bothering to be mindful of her mascara. 

“ _Shit! Mabel_ ,” the two of them exclaimed simultaneously. 

Without another spoken word, Pacifica frantically pulled out her phone and called up the other girl. Normally, Pacifica would take some kind of satisfaction from interrupting one of her friend’s dates. This, however, was no laughing matter. She dialed and only got through half a ring before Mabel’s cheerful voice came through the other line. If it was anyother situation, she would spend hours analyzing the speed at which her crush picked up the phone; as it was, there were other matters at hand. 

“Mabes, Dipper got in a car accident. Stan and I are on our way to the hospital. Meet us there, I’ll explain when you get there.” The other girl didn’t even bother responding, and the phone was hung up with a click. Stan and Pacifica didn’t dare speak. The only sound was the everpesent deluge of rain and the crashing of thunder. It seemed to Pacifica that her life just kept becoming more and more turbulent. How was the blonde ever going to be able to throw even one punch back if even mother nature was facing against her. 

Luckily (by some measure at least), Stan finally threw the car into the hospital parking lot, allowing Pacifica to abandon her thoughts. The two barely let gave the car enough time to come to a complete stop before they were out the door and bolting inside with enough speed to leave a sonic boom in their wake. 

Soaked, sobbing, and with nerves frayed, Stan and Pacifica slid up to the triage desk and slammed their hands on the counter in front of a startled receptionist. 

“ **_Where is Dipper Pines_ **,” Stan heaved out, unable to keep his frantic voice under control. A puddle of rainwater was quickly growing larger below their feet. 

“...and you are,” replied the receptionist, unhappy with being shouted at.

“ _Family. What’s with the inquisition,_ ” Pacifica chimed in. They didn’t have time for this. Dipper could be **_dead_ **and they were being faced down with a woman who looked like she would rather chew the gum that was inevitably stuck under a chair in the waiting room than talk to two yahoos the storm just blew in. 

“He’s just down the hall-” No more information was needed. Stan and Pacifica once again sped away, almost slipping on the rain water they had dragged in. Blinded by fear, the two of them almost raced right past Dipper’s hospital room, but when a familiar voice called out ‘Hey, guys?’ they came to a screeching halt and gingerly entered the room. 

So he wasn’t dead; Pacifica let out a sigh of relief at that fact. There Dipper sat, upright on his white hospital bed, arm in a pink cast and bandages wrapped around his skull. Various minor bumps and scratches littered his body, but all in all, Pacifica conceded that it could have been a lot worse. She sank into a chair at his bedside with a heavy thump. The seat of the chair immediately became saturated with water. Trying to get her tears and breathing under control, Pacifica let her face sink into the palms of her hands. 

“Kid, _what happened_ ,” Stan asked, voice thick. 

Dipper cleared his throat and shrugged as best he could with his injured wing, “One minute I was on my way back home, squinting through the rain and darkness, the next a car comes round a bend and I’m flipped off the side of the road.” 

“Where’s the guy that hit you,” Stan said, cracking his knuckles, “I’ll put _him_ in a cast.” 

“Stan-,” Pacifica started, voice muffled by her hands. 

Dipper cut her off, “Grunkle Stan it’s ok. It was just some young guy from out of town. I sent him off. It’s not his fault.” 

“It’s my fault.” 

“No, Paz,” the boy sighed, “It isn’t. You had no control over the weather, and you personally didn’t break my arm and give me a concussion.”

“But-”

Dipper held up his uncast hand. An angry red stripe cut across the palm, “I don’t want to hear it. _It’s not your fault_. I will, however, request that a proper headlight gets installed on the cart.”

“Done.”

He wheezed out a laugh, causing the boy to wince in pain, “I expect a raise too.” 

“We’ll talk about it,” Stan and Pacifica responded in tandem. 

A noise from the direction of the triage desk pulled away the group’s attention. There was a lot of yelling, and Pacifica got up from her chair to investigate. After a moment gaggle grew closer and the blonde was nearly knocked on her ass when a mess of brunette hair streaked into the room, a concerned looking Grenda close on her heals. 

“ _Oh my god- what hap- Dip- Are you o-_ ” 

“Mabel take a breath before you pass out. We can’t afford to have both of us in the hospital,” her twin chided. 

“But you-,” but before Mabel could get any more words out, she collapsed in a heap of tears...into Pacifica’s surprised arms, completely ignoring her girlfriend’s wide open and waiting ones. The brunette sobbed against the blonde’s neck. All Pacifica could do was soothingly rub the girl’s back and ignore the looks from the room’s other occupants. Stan looked confused; Grenda was absolutely fuming. Dipper, despite his numerous injuries, somehow managed to look smug. He winked at Pacifica, though it looked more like a twitch in his current state. Pacifica shot him a look as if to say ‘not now’, but the boy just waved it off with his better hand. As far as the blonde was concerned, the hospital room of one’s crush’s twin brother was not the place to have a romantic confrontation. 

Especially when the crush’s girlfriend was seething a mere few feet away. Finally, after an agonizing couple of moments, Mabel’s sobs subsided and she peeled herself off of Pacifica. 

The girl sniffed and wiped her nose. Mascara ran all the way down her neck. “Oh. Paz, I’m sorry. I think I cried makeup on you.” Mabel stuck her thumb in her mouth, then wiped against the blonde’s throat. Pacifica didn’t dare to breathe. One false move and it would be all over for everyone in the room. At that point, she was sure Grenda was going to punt the former heiress out the window; she sure was strong enough to do so, and while Pacifica considered herself a world-class athlete, years of golf swings were useless in unarmed hands, especially when put to the test against the other girl’s wresting background. 

Mabel finished caressing her neck, and sure enough, her fingers came away tinged black with mascara. 

“She marked you,” came the voices from the back of Pacifica’s head. The girl was too afraid to dignify that with a response because _no one else was talking_. They were collectively suffocating in the awkwardness unfolding in front of them. Dipper still looked smug, but was gracious enough to offset the expression with an undertone of fear for Pacifica’s sake. Stan distracted himself by doodling nonsense on his nephew’s cast. It was probably something incredibly vulgar, and it was too late to stop him. 

The fact that Mabel and Pacifica couldn’t even be in the same room together without making it tense was a bad sign. Pacifica was still furious for how Mabel and Grenda had conspired against her, and even though she, again, wasn’t about to start a fight in Dipper’s hospital suit, was no where near ready to forgive the girl. Mabel hadn’t even offered her apology in the first place, but still. The principle of the thing. 

Pacifica took a step back, “I have to use the bathroom,” she said, scurrying out of the room. She made it to the bathroom without incident, and splashed water on her face to cool down. Not that it did anything; the blonde was still soaked down to the marrow from the storm outside. 

“Why does Mabel have to be like that,” she said to her reflection in the old bathroom mirror, “One day she’s manipulating me like all hell, then the next she’s collapsing into my arms like I’m some kind of Victorian fainting couch.” She huffed and began to pace, running desperate hands through her damp dirty blonde locks. Half the time Mabel didn’t even feel like her friend, much less a potential paramour. The girl reached for the chain around her neck to fiddle with, only to discover its absence. ‘Oh right’ she remembered. It was cast off in a moment of regret fueled passion.

The thought of Mabel cheating on Grenda with Pacifica had indeed crossed the latter’s mind. How sweet that would be, to have her cake and eat it to: gaining the object of her affection and slighting someone she had never liked all in one go. But Pacifica wasn’t like that, at least was trying to not be like that anymore. There was nothing wrong with fantasizing, though. Mabel coming back from a date with Grenda just to walk right up to Pacifica with a passionate kiss: maybe more than just a kiss. When the other girl touched her to clean her neck, Pacifica thought about what it would be like if it was a touch born of love and not utility. 

Why _had_ Mabel fallen so readily into Pacifica’s arms? The blonde knew the brunette wasn’t stupid, but in the midst of turmoil, one can be allowed to act on impulse. She inspected herself in the mirror. The Hermes bags under her eyes became more pronounced with every passing day. Did that imply that Mabel’s instinct was to turn to Pacifica for strength? What would happen if the other girl walked in through that bathroom door right then? 

Pacifica hoped she would take the blonde’s angular face in her hands and carefully trace out the features, from the iconic roman nose to the blush pink lips to the sculpted eyebrows. They didn’t even have to kiss. Pacifica just wanted _some kind_ of acknowledgment that yes. Mabel saw her. Mabel heard her, even if it had to be from the sidelines. 

Someone _did_ come in through the bathroom door and Pacifica got herself together. A moment of weakness a weak-willed person does not make, but a Northwest never showed vulnerability. 

Footsteps grew near as the girl busied herself in the sink. Her nails had been bare of polish for the longest time in her life, and Pacifica inspected them closely, pondering if it was time to change that, and if yes, then what color would be appropriate. Black maybe to match her hea-

“Hey! Northwest,” a gruff voice said behind her, shaking the blonde from her mind vacation. Her head snapped up and found Grenda staring at her in the mirror like a lion sizing up a gazelle. 

“ _Shit_.” 

“Yeah, shit is right,” Grenda mocked, grabbing Pacifica by the collar and pushing her up against the cool white brick of the bathroom wall, “Let’s have some... _girl talk._ ” 

“Oh. I-I-I don’t know if that’s neces-,” but the tightening on the scruff of her neck ended her cires of desperation. Pacifica suddenly felt her feet pawing at the ground as the stronger girl slowly raised the socialite until they were making direct eye contact. The girl had a good half foot on her, so if Pacifica was suddenly dropped, which probably wasn’t out of the question, she would hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. 

“You need to stay away from Mabel,” the other girl growled. 

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you think I’m stupid, but _I think_ you’re not as smart as you think. Stay. Away. From. Mabel.”

Pacifica’s sweaty palms scrabbled against the wall behind her, “I-I can’t. We live in the same house. We sleep in the same...room.” Blue eyes widened in fear at the stupidity of that last comment.

“Nice save, Einstein,” said the Greek Chorus, all facepalming in shame of the blonde’s ‘quick wit’. 

“And also,” Pacifica started, finding an ounce of moxie, “It’s not like Mabel is faultless here. Yeah I may look at her…”

“You sure you want to go on?”

The blonde breathed heavily through her nose, desperate to stop her fight or flight response from activating further, “But you should see how she looks at me.” 

Grenda’s face turned a beautiful shade of puce, “I _do_ see that.”

“They why,” she started, gesturing wildly to how the other girl was seconds away from dropping kicking her into an early grave, “Don’t you take it up with her.” Pacifica’s bangs were starting to drip into her eyes, this time with fearful sweat as opposed to rain water. 

The large girl finally set the blonde back on the ground and released her collar. Pacifica finally let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as Grenda immediately pushed her hard against the wall and held her there, arm digging into the blonde’s shoulder. 

“Because I _love_ Mabel, but I _hate_ you.”

“Oh so you’re not mincing words this time-”

“Shut it! What are you hiding, besides your obvious infatuation with my girlfriend.”

“Nothing,” Pacifica squeaked out, “And what? I’m not allowed to have secrets?” 

Grenda stepped ever closer, “I know you’re trying to play the ‘reformed bully’ and everything, but soon your goodwill is going to run out. You can’t be Icarus forever, and if you really wanted to be a better person, you wouldn’t be so damn coy and condescending all the time.” 

“Nobody trusts me anyway, so why not?”

“Someday soon I will laugh as you are thrown out of this town for good,” she released Pacifica’s shoulder, who in turn rubbed at the surely bruised skin, “Until then, I’ll be watching you.” Grenda turned to leave as if nothing had just happened. The other girl furrowed her brow; no one turns their back on a Northwest. 

“I’m sure you will, Fezzik,” she called at the retreating form. In a flash, Grenda whipped around and sent a huge fist in Pacifica’s direction. Luckily, the blonde managed to drop to the floor just in time, and the punch merely sailed above her head. Looking up at her attacker, they made eye contact right as Grenda hacked a loogey. It landed squarely on Pacifica’s right cheek and slid slowly down the rest of her face. 

“Until next time,” Grenda said, smirking at the abject horror and disgust gracing her victim’s face. She walked away. WIth the sound of a door swinging shut, Pacifica was once again left alone in the hospital bathroom. 

“That...could have gone better…,” she muttered to herself, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the saliva off her face. If Pacifica thought the vibe of Dipper’s hospital room was awkward before her and Grenda’s confrontation, she dreaded what it would be like going back in. 

The answer was, she discovered when she walked back inside, _really really_ awkward. Mabel sniffled at Dipper’s bedside like he had just been diagnosed with tuberculosis. Stan paced, which prompted Pacifica to partake in the pacing as well. Grenda fumed, but the two girls made a silent pact to not erupt at each other again for the rest of the night. It was not the time nor the place. 

Soon enough, Dipper was discharged and he, Stan, and Pacifica finally drove back home. It was almost two in the morning and Stan drove with much more caution than he did on the drive over. They were all tired. She had watched Grenda carry a sleeping Mabel out of the front doors of the hospital and place her in the truck. 

Pacifica yawned, “I’m closing the snack shack for the next few days.”

“Seconded,” the boy chimed in from the back seat of his grunkle’s vintage car. The car. The cart! The blonde groaned. She would have to carry out a retrieval mission for the return of the ‘company car’. It was definitely not in the budget to buy a new one, and if what Dipper said was true, a single dent wasn’t enough for her to consider it a futile endeavor. A good mechanic was worth their weight in gold: good thing Soos would do the repairs for free. 

“Ow, quit it. Ow, quit it. Ow, _Pacifica stop it_ ,” a few days later, Pacifica amused herself not by the blaring TV in front of them, but the pain she dealt to the broken arm of her best friend as they sat together on the sofa. Now covered in signatures and messages of all scripts and sizes, Dipper’s cast was a source of perpetual enjoyment. Mabel had already promised to put it in a shadow box the moment it was taken off her brother’s arm. 

“You suuurrrree you don’t want to come to the Woodstick Festival this year, BroBro,” his twin drawled from her place on the carpeted floor. 

The boy sighed and swatted away Pacifica’s still poking fingers, “I already told you, Mabel, I’m just not feeling up to it this year,” Dipper shot the other couch-dweller a deathly warning glare, “Also I don’t think that loud music would be good for my concussion…” 

Mabel scoffed, “Party-pooper. Whatever,” she turned her gleeful face to Pacifica, “Looks like it’ll be just us girls.” 

Great. A whole loud sweaty day spent with her crush and two people who didn’t like her. What could be better? Maybe she could convince Wendy to go with them. Pacifica did have another idea for a tattoo after all. 

“ _You gotta get owl trowel,_ ” blared the TV.

“How many damn times are we going to have to see this commercial,” chimed everyone in the living room. 

“Ugh Paz it’ll be so great. You, me, Grenda, Candy, all my favorite girls in one place at the ultimate Oregon hipster live-music event. Craft beer and cronuts for all!!!”

“You know,” the blonde thought to herself, already exhausted from a day that hadn’t even happened yet, “Maybe I should have just let Grenda end my life in that bathroom.” 

“Hey Dipper,” Pacifica started. The boy made a small noise of acknowledgment. “When I die, make sure my headstone reads: Pacifica Elise Northwest: She died how she lived: Running her mouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming roughly August 2nd, so be on the look out for that. 
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave kudos and comments, or to reach out to me on tumblr. I love hearing from you guys!


	8. Accelerando

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reprieve from the darkness, comparatively. Not to give away where I'm from, but this is partially inspired by my own experiences with the beast that is Lollapalooza
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS: Can y'all do me a favor and take this poll? It's literally one question, and it won't factor in until a lot later in the story, but I keep flip-flopping between these two ideas, so I just want to know your thoughts. There's one I'm leaning towards, so this poll might not matter anyway, but still. 
> 
> Here's the link, the mildest of mild spoilers in the question: https://linkto.run/p/B1V3MRAJ 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter, don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos. 
> 
> Here's the companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=mtvYHy8FTGWQnn5vheNF5A
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob

“You know, you really don’t have to do this.”

Pacifica leaned back, an annoyed frown on her face, “I thought I told you to stop talking,” she dipped the razor in the increasingly cloudy bowl of water, “But anyway, of course I do. I’m not about to allow my best friend to go outside looking like a vagrant.” The girl dug an accusatory finger into Dipper’s right arm, still encased in a hot pink cast. He hissed in pain, but slumped back into the couch, resigned, at the sight of his friend’s ‘I told you so’ look. 

The two friends sat together at the kitchen table. The blonde methodically ran the blade up and down his face, doing her best to avoid giving the boy razor burn. He really was making a big deal out of it, but Pacifica could understand why. It was emasculating to have to have one’s female friend shave one’s face, especially if one was a teenage boy, barely able to grow a beard in the first place. 

The blonde girl enjoyed the mundanity of it. Before the twins, but _especially_ before her current relationship with Dipper was cemented, Pacifica had never had close friends before. The simple act of helping her friend in his hour of need was intimate in a way the girl had never experienced, but revelled in all the same. 

“Don’t you think this is…,” he started, earning another scolding grumble from the blonde, “...intimate?” 

Pacifica snorted. She should print him some business cards: Dipper Pines, Certified Mind Reader. 

“Well I’m fairly convinced that we _were_ meant to be lovers,” she teased, shoving the boy’s shoulder, “Soul-mates, separated by time and circumstance.” 

“Stop it, you goof,” he retorted, laughing. It was hot, and the remaining shaving cream was beginning to melt down his face. 

The mood mellowed once more. Pacifica finished her task and slapped him around with some of Stan’s aftershave that she had dug out of a closet. The liquid glowed a fluorescent green. Perhaps it was imbued with some otherworldly properties, just like everything else in Gravity falls. Maybe tomorrow Dipper would wake up with a beard as thick and red as Manly Dan’s. Pacifica hoped that was the case; she would love to see the look on Wendy’s face. 

She passed Dipper a mirror for him to admire her handiwork. “Not bad, Northwest. It seems that maybe you _do_ have some practical skills.”

“Photography is practical. Also, _I run a restaurant._ ”

He waved her off, “Whatever you say. But seriously, thank you. Maybe I could...trim your bangs sometime to return the favor?” 

“Not a chance.”

“As I thought. Wanna play a board game?” 

“Sure, but I’m picking this time,” Pacifica said, lifting herself up from the table, “We don’t need another CIA raid like the last time we played Don’t Wake Stalin.” 

“Yeah…,” Dipper conceded, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head, “But how was I supposed to know that ‘waking Stalin’ meant invoking his ghost?” Pacifica didn’t even bother gracing that weak defense with a response, instead making her way upstairs to rummage through the closet where the games were kept.

But an hour into their first round of Connect Forty-Four, the blonde was regretting her selection. There were just _so many pieces_. 

The girl watched one of her red chips spin on the table like a coin as Dipper made various faces in contemplation, his yellow chip poised to strike. Why he felt the need to find strategy in everything in life, she would never know. There was only so much planning one could do with this game. What if Pacifica chose a placement he hadn’t anticipated for her 34th chip? What then? He’d have to rethink his whole plan, that’s what. Seeing as Dipper wasn’t one to rush, nor allow her to surrender, Pacifica watched in stasis as her entire afternoon went down the drain.

“Sooo-”

“Stop trying to distract me,” the boy snapped, cutting her off. Finally, he placed his tile in such a way that probably had no bearing on the game whatsoever. Still, a self-satisfied smirk fell upon his face, “So what were you going to ask me?”

“Well, your highness,” Pacifica snarked, throwing dirty blonde locks over her shoulder, “I was just wondering if you and Mabel had any birthday plans.” The girl picked up one of her chips and dropped in blindly into the rack, desperate to finish the game as soon as possible. 

Dipper once more examined his options, but spared her the uncomfortable hum and haw, “Yes.” He paused a moment to evaluate the grid of red and yellow pieces laid out in front of them, “Mabel shoved some flyer in my face the other day for like, a cowboy night or someth-”

“The 50th Annual Gravity Falls End of Summer Hoedown Throwdown,” Pacifica interrupted, nodding sagely, “It’s this crazy house party the same family has been throwing for generations.”

“Yeah…,” Dipper responded, put off by the girl’s unexpected knowledge.

“I’m actually surprised we haven’t all gone together before.”

At that, Dipper broke their eye-contact, guiltily refocusing on the board game, “Mabel’s wanted to go for years. I...didn’t...but seeing as this is kinda our last Summer as “kids”,” he shrugged, “Figured, since she wants to do it so badly, it could be a fun, like, last hoorah for us or something. It’s probably not really your scene though...kinda declasse for you...”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that…” Pacifica said, inspecting her nails. 

“What,” said Dipper, skepticism apparent in his tone, “Can you even square dance?” 

The blonde scoffed, once again throwing back her hair, “Can _you_? Dipper, you forget yourself. I was born in the forest; you merely adopted it. I’m definitely more country than you.”

“ _What? No way._ ”

“ _Yes way_ ,” the girl laughed, beginning to pelt her friend with a deluge of red and yellow chips, “Not all of us had the privilege of growing up in the haven of society that is the Bay Area.”

Dipper held up his hand to shield his face from her onslaught, “But...but... _You’re you!_ ”

Pacifica finally ran out of projectiles and instead clasped her hands on the boy’s forearm, “Indeed, but this me went to public school in the middle of nowhere. So yes I can square dance; they taught it in gym class. I also happen to hold the town’s record for fastest round of slap the bag. Now that I think about it, I have no idea who even brought the bag in the first place. My parents would never...buy...boxed wine...” She trailed off, the look on the boy’s face making her self-conscious.

Dipper’s jaw went slack, practically hitting the table. All this new information about his best friend was becoming too much. “When did you do that,” he said, flabbergasted. 

It was Pacifica’s turn to sheepishly turn away, “Uh...I don’t know...like a year and a half ago...at a big party at my parent’s house…” 

The boy quickly ran the math in his head, “ _At your fifteenth birthday party?_ ”

The girl grit her teeth into a nervous smile and shrugged her shoulders, “Beginner’s luck?” 

“ _Oh my god-”_

“Hey, hey, don’t focus on that. Back to the hoedown, back to the hoedown. I think it’ll be a lot of fun. Plus,” the blonde waggled perfectly sculpted eyebrows, “You’ll get to see me in action.”

Dipper continued to stare at her, gaping like a fish, “Pacifica Elise Northwest, I swear you get more interesting with every passing day.”

“You know it, loverboy. There’s just one thing. One _teensy_ thing I’m a little worried about,” she said, suddenly finding the tablecloth incredibly riveting. Biting her lip, she continued, spurred on by her friend’s expectant gaze, “Seeing as currently my possessions are comprised of,” she began counting on her fingers, “A bag of golf clubs, a backpack full of school supplies, a car that is one the FBI’s most wanted list, and a duffle bag full of various other personal effects...and also considering that for the first time in my life I’m not exactly solvent-”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I’m poor now Dipper,” Pacifica spat out, throwing her hands up in the air, “I’m poor and I don’t have the appropriate clothes for the occasion so...and I’m absolutely dreading this...I’m going to have to go thri-”

“ **_Did somebody say thrift shopping??!!_ **” 

“ **_FUCK_ ** **!!** ”

The sudden appearance of Mabel caused the other two kitchen inhabitants to lose five years off the end of their lives. Dipper would never admit it, but his scream was louder and at a higher pitch than Pacifica’s. 

“Yeah I was about to, you fucking gremlin,” the blonde said, chest still heaving in fear. 

The brunette girl continued squealing at the prospect of thrift shopping. It was well known that Mabel Pines was deeply entrenched in the vintage culture. The girl basically dropped dead from want every time she saw a color-blocked windbreaker. Even now, neon scrunchies appeared in her hair, as well as on her wrists and ankles. 

“Ohmygosh ohmygosh **_ohmygosh_ ** **!!!** Pacifica we’re going to make you look so _cute_ ,” the brunette yelled, grabbing the other girl’s hand. 

Pacifica forcibly ripped her hand away from her friend’s iron grip, “Mabel, _tomorrow._ We don’t have time. Isn’t Grenda coming to pick us up in like, an hour?” 

“Oh right,” Mabel giggled to herself, “Besides. A look like the one you’re looking for is going to take some searching, three stores at least!” The blonde groaned at the prospect of being dragged around Gravity Falls while being forced to try on other people’s clothes. Dipper smirked at her, amused by her pain. In a cosmic sense, Pacifica probably deserved it. She had put so much strife into the world already that a single day of rigmarole was little punishment. Besides, thrift stores were a fact of life for her now. One could not afford Prada on a fry cook’s salary. 

The girl plopped back down onto one of the kitchen chairs again. She worked a thumb into the wrist of her left hand. The tattoo there was taking it’s time to heal and sometimes made its presence known with a dull burn. She stared off into the distance, mentally preparing for the day ahead. A whole afternoon stuck outside in the heat and cacophony of the festival with no other company besides a girl who Pacifica suspected didn’t care for her, her crush, and her crush’s girlfriend who _really_ didn’t care for her.

She tugged on the bottom of her peach-colored, sleeveless crop-top. Even if she didn’t expect to have a good time, the blonde could still look the part. High-waisted linen shorts and crystal necklaces completed her look. Lucky for her that bohemianism was a novelty to the rich, so her wardrobe was already steeped in it’s style when Soos and Wendy shoved as much as they could into a lone duffle bag. Pacifica pulled her hair back into a loose pony; if it was a starving artist her parents wanted, then she was going to wear the title with a badge of pride, scars and all. 

Soon enough, the tell-tale crunch of Grenda’s truck on the Mystery Shack’s gravel driveway signalled Pacifica’s impending doom. She stared Dipper down with a pleading look, begging him to give her an excuse to stay.

No dice. “I guess you’re off then,” he mused, a small pitying smile on his face. 

“You sure you’ll survive without me? I don’t want your soft little head to get jostled around again.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he said, waving her off, “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come home.” 

The girl sighed and stood, grabbing her waiting camera off the kitchen counter, “You’ll wait for me,” she joked, drudging to the door towards the sound of the honking car horn. 

“I’ll be gazing out the window, mournfully awaiting your return,” he called after her, reaching with his good hand to smack Pacifica playfully on the butt. The girl stopped in her tracks, shot her friend a wink over her shoulder, then disappeared out the door, laughing and in slightly higher spirits. 

The drive to Woodstick was awkward. Mabel called shotgun before anyone else even thought to do so, not that Pacifica wanted to sit next to Grenda. Still, it wasn’t much better being stuck on the back bench with a nervous Candy who was afraid to even meet the blonde’s gaze. 

“-and we gotta see Cool Winter and Purely Black and Megatowel and Four Second to Devon and,” Mabel took a breath from her rambling to closely examine the festival line-up. She gasped, “How did I not notice My Heart, Your Brains was going to be here?! I swear if they don’t play ‘Dave Broke My Heart in Miami’, I will _riot_.” 

As much as Pacifica claimed to subscribe to a bohemian lifestyle, indie rock was not her specialty. Her knowledge of the genre barely extended past the likes of The Strokes or Sufjan Stevens. In her opinion, the names of the bands Mabel listed sounded like crap she would hear in a pretentious independent bookstore where they only carried the works of Gunter Grass and Ayn Rand in an attempt to be ‘off-beat and quirky’. 

Sure, Pacifica loved German literature more than the next person. She, after all, was studying the language in school. But one could only read _The Tin Drum_ so many times. 

“Yeah that all sounds great, Mabel,” Grenada barked out. Pacifica grabbed hold of the inside door handle in an attempt to steady herself as Grenda took a turn 15 miles above the posted speed limit. The other girl continued, “But what have they got in the way of eats?”

“Well, my love,” Mabel started, laying a gentle hand on her girlfriend’s arm, “Have you ever heard of a sushi donut?” 

“No, what’s that?” An unfortunate answer, seeing as it spurred Mabel to begin rambling once more on the intricacies of ringed rice and the various raw toppings. Pacifica simply sighed and attempted to drown it out by resting her head and staring out the car window, letting her head thump into the glass with every bump in the road. With any luck, she and Dipper would end up with matching concussions. 

“So, Pacifica,” said a meek voice from the blonde girl’s right, “What part of the festival are you most excited about?”

“I don’t know. Between the sweaty townies and the sub-par music, what’s not to love. Maybe I’ll bum some weed off someone or something…” 

Surprisingly, Pacifica’s response managed to stifle a slight giggle out of Candy, who playfully shoved the former heiress on the arm, but quickly retracted her arm fearing retribution for the egregious act she just committed. “Yeah, I guess music festivals aren’t really my scene either.” 

The car ride suddenly got more interesting. “Wait really,” asked Pacifica, “Haven’t you been coming with Grenda and Mabel for years?” 

The shorter girl shrugged, “It’s not like it’s the only thing we do together. We hang out at plenty of other locations that are more to my taste. I know Mabel and Grenda like it, and they’re my friends, so I tag along too. I’m pretty much used to it by now.” 

The blonde turned her attention away from the passing scenery onto the girl sitting next to her. Pacifica had to admit; With a fringed vest and tons of bangles, Candy’s outfit was pretty cute. Perhaps the two of them had more common ground than she originally thought.

Candy leaned in closer to whisper in the taller girl’s ear. It wasn’t really necessary, seeing as the other two passengers were completely engrossed in each other in the front seat, “I’m actually kind of glad you’re coming with us, Pacifica.” 

How many more revelations could one car ride unveil, “Why’s that,” the other girl asked. 

Candy leaned back into her seat, “I’ll tell you later. I’m almost certain we’ll get the chance.” 

How ominous; Pacifica was intrigued. 

The scene at the festival was about what the blonde had expected. The air smelt of heavy hops and the musk of weed. Drunk frat guys ogled her exposed stomach forcing Pacifica to pull her crop town as far as it would go in desperation. The music was as twee as it could get and the girl constantly whipped out her phone in order to tell the difference between a dobro vs. a mandolin vs. a banjo. Despite it all, or maybe because of the suffocating smoke that surrounded every surface, Pacifica found that her head began to get lighter, and with every pluck of assorted strings, she grew lighter on her feet as well, beaded necklaces bouncing in time to the music. 

Sweat dripped down her face and her dirty blonde bangs clung messily to her forehead. Candy hopped around next to her, the two girls allowing every care an inhibition float away along with the rising plumes of smoke. If only for an afternoon, Pacifica let herself not care anymore. She couldn’t even find it in herself to be bothered about how Mabel and Grenda had disappeared right as the group had stepped out of the truck, off to grind it to Sexy Apple Cult, or some equally shitty band. 

“Good riddance,” sang the Greek chorus, though it came out more like a feral screech, “Candy won’t judge you for singing along despite not knowing the words. In fact, she’s doing it right now.” 

Pacifica always dreamed of jetting off to every corner of the Earth in pursuit of getting as far away from Gravity Falls as possible. However, it was moments like these that the blonde truly saw the hidden majesty in her hometown. There, high as fuck and surrounded by bearded hipsters who were clad in flannel and skinny jeans despite the 90 degree heat, Pacifica Northwest was allowed to just be. From up above everything looked so small and insular; choked by the castle walls, she was nearly killed by the people and turrets sworn to protect her from the riff-raff. 

But from down on the ground, all the ragamuffins were just people, and detail was easier to see up close. Gravity Falls was steeped in tradition and mysticism, and that magic extended beyond what was in Stanford Pines’ three paranormal journals. 

Overwhelmed in every sense, Pacifica felt the subwoofers force the bass through the very earth, prying loose a savageness wedged deep in the very back of her soul. The song sped up through the bridge and final chorus, and bloodshot steel blue eyes only became more wild. 

A final gong hit signaled the end of the set, and the two girls collapsed into the dirt as the immediately forgotten band said their thanks and left the stage. She clutched her camera to herself as a reflex, mindfulness ingrained into her mind even in it’s altered state. All her jumping and jiving wouldn’t make for very good photos, but they would probably turn out to be some of the most honest ones she’d ever shot.

Her chest ached with heaving breathes, but not even the apocalypse could wipe the crooked smile off her face. Pacifica had been high before, once or twice, but it had always been in the quiet of an abandoned bathroom in the back of someone’s house party, or in the form of a joint secretly bummed off a tourist on the shores of Lake Gravity Falls. For the first time in her life, the former heiress felt like part of a collective. This memory, shared with some people she knew, most of whom she didn’t, would live on in all it’s haziness and a wicked party where the music was sub-par, but where strangers became comrades for one night only. 

With every day that passed, Pacifica Elise Northwest shed bits of her former life. Some days the pieces were small. Today, the piece was boulder-sized, and came with a whole litany of realization. Apparently, the blonde loved to yell and scream. She loved to laugh out loud and let the mud cover her skin from toe to ankle. She loved her fellow man, despite knowing nothing about them other than that they too loved to do those things. In the grand scheme of things, that was enough. It was certainly more abstract affection than the girl had known in her caged life. 

“Hey, you wanna eat,” asked Candy, pulling Pacifica from her thoughts. A snarl emitted from the blonde’s stomach causing both girls to giggle. 

The black-haired one pulled herself up, then held a hand out for Pacifica to take, “I guess that’s a yes,” she said, pulling her friend out of the mud. 

“I’m always down to eat.” 

The munchies set in fast, and Pacifica purchased at least one item from every vendor at the festival. Kebabs, hot chicken sandwiches, rainbow cones, garlic fries: if it was edible, it was getting purchased. In one fell swoop, the girl blew the entirety of the small budget she allocated for the day. As it was, she hadn’t planned on buying merch anyway, as the blurry photos would suffice as evidence of the day’s shenanigans. 

The two girls sat in content silence, wolfing down their food. They settled in on a small grassy hill a ways away from the main event: still close enough to hear the music at a reasonable volume, but far enough away to allow the high to slowly subside. Pacifica felt sated after her emotional purge via interpretive dance, and the Xtreme spice jalapeno poppers were quickly quelling her hunger to match. 

She shifted, laying on her stomach , and threw another popper into her eager mouth. With her other hand, she took down her ponytail, released blonde hair into its naturally flowing state. It had been hours since she and Candy had seen the other half of their group. Neither of them seemed to mind; they were sure that Mabel would summon them when it was time to go home, and in the meantime, the odd couple was happy to revel in the unusually jovial company. Perhaps it was the weed talking, but Pacifica found herself starting to consider Candy an actual friend. 

“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about in the car?” 

Candy sucked cheese dust off her fingers, “Oh! I’m happy you’re here because otherwise I would have been the world’s saddest third wheel.”

“True that.” 

The shorter girl giggled, though her face quickly grew more serious, “I don’t know. I’m happy for Grenda and Mabel obviously, but we used to be the three musketeers. Now, whenever we hang out, it doesn’t matter what we even do. I feel like I’m trespassing on their time together no matter what.” 

Pacifica rolled onto her side, planted her elbow in the grass, and rested a cheek on her sweaty palm, “I mean, yeah both of them have had boyfriends before, but especially on Mabel’s end, none of those relationships were very serious. I think...they tend to get caught up in each other because it’s the first time they’ve been in a relationship where they actually felt really strong romantic feelings for another person.” 

The frown only deepened on Candy’s face, unsatisfied with the explanation. 

Pacifica continued, taking note of the other girl’s expression, “I’m not saying it’s ok for them to shut you out like that. The reason I bring it up is because I’d like to encourage you to talk to Mabel and Grenda about it, and if you can approach it from their side, they might be more willing to approach the issue from yours.” 

“Are you always this philosophical?” 

“A lot of the time, yes. Especially when I’m high though.” 

A laugh blew out from Candy’s nose, “Are you sure you’re poorly adjusted?”

“Yes, irrevocably so. I can’t do normal girl talk, but I can try my best if you’d like to talk about something else.”

“Like what.” 

The blonde thought for a moment, then a sly smirk made its way onto her features, “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, examining her dirt cake nails, “Maybe your... _crush on a certain twin_?” 

“Ugh, god,” Candy groaned, trying and failing to hide her growing blush. She threw up her hands in exasperation, “I just...I had a crush on him years ago, but that fizzled out pretty quick. There’s just _something_ about Dipper.” 

“Is it that infuriating know-it-all-tone that he uses 99% of the time?” 

“Honestly, Paz?” The black-haired girl started. Candy had never used her nickname before. Pacifica liked the intimacy of it. It indicated to her that people felt more comfortable around her, which in turn helped her feel more comfortable with herself. “That’s part of it. Whenever he uses that voice, it makes me want to throw an encyclopedia right in his face because he’s wrong like, most of the time. But Dipper’s always had this confidence about him. Yeah, it makes his face punchable, but also oh so kissable.”

“Damn girl,” said Pacifica, tossing a popper high into the air and catching it flawlessly into her mouth, “I totally can’t blame you though. Dipper Pines is like, the most eligible bachelor this side of the Rockies. I must admit that even _I_ may have felt something for him at one point.”

“Oh, really…” Candy’s tone shifted into suspicion, causing the taller girl to laugh and sit up. 

“No need to worry. The other twin is the one that really captured my heart.” 

“I’m sorry. It must be hard for you to watch them together.” 

Pacifica shrugged, “It is, but I’m in no position to do anything about it.” Speaking of the devils, the blonde spied Mabel and her girlfriend trudge up the hill towards them. 

Candy followed her sad gaze, “Hey, you want to make out to make them jealous,” the girl said, snapping back to Pacifica with a wicked smirk on her face. 

Her friend’s sudden suggestion took her by surprise, and Pacifica’s laughter carried out over the festival grounds; yeah, she was starting to really like Candy. “No, that’s ok. Thanks for the offer though,” she choked out between snickers. 

Mabel and Grenda sat in the grass beside their other friends. Pacifica couldn’t help but notice Mabel’s disheveled hair and the red mark on the side of her neck. Maybe she _should_ have taken Candy’s offer. 

“Oh you guys should have _seen it_ ,” Mabel enthused, breathless and eyes dilated, “When Lionsica played ‘The Homecoming Queen’s Got a Bat’ and laid down that bass line? Ugh everyone went _feral_.”

“Yeah that sounds really great, Mabes,” said Candy. The brunette failed to pick up on her dejected tone and instead continued to babble about “ _Lionsica’s crazy show_ ”. Pacifica and Candy shot each other a look, causing them both to snort in laughter.

Without warning, warm palms were placed on either side of Pacifica’s face, and her head was forcibly turned to come inches away from Mabel’s blown pupils. Her eyes had a glassy look to them, and the way her ever-present smile looked even goofier than usual, tipped the blonde off to the fact that Mabel too had been breathing in the smoke. The brunette was blitzed to high heaven and an amused smile graced Pacifica’s face. 

“Paz, how have I never noticed how pretty your eyes are,” Mabel drawled, “Like a storm at sea. I just want to dip my hands in the cold water…” Pacifica twitched away as the girl tried to shove her fingers into her eyes. She couldn’t get very far with her friend’s vice grip on her face. 

“Mabes, you tell me all the time how you like my eyes, and I usually return the favor by saying I love yours and how the brown reminds me of the forest, which reminds me of home.” At that point, Pacifica noticed that Grenda, who before had quietly sat on the grass watching the people mill around below them, took a keen interest in the exchange going on next to her. 

“So what you’re saying is,” Mabel said, wrapping dirty blonde curls around a deft finger, “Is that my eyes remind you of home.” The girl was close enough that Pacifica could feel her breath on her face. It was warm and smelt of sugar, but it also snapped the taller girl the rest of the way out of her weed smoke induced haze and instead put her incredibly on edge. 

“Y-yeah…?” 

The air sizzled around them and the two girl’s eyes bore into one another, unable to look away. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but Pacifica could have sworn that the other girl’s face, but most importantly her lips, edged ever closer. Finally, mercifully, Mabel snapped out of whatever fugue she had been in and looked over her shoulder at her girlfriend, who was trying very hard to not look pissed. The brunette slowly turned back to Pacifica with an apologetic look on her face and retreated back into the muscular arms of Grenda. Pacifica, confused and uncomfortable remained as still as possible in an attempt to quell the raging of both her heart and her mind. 

“Huh,” Candy said, startling the blonde. She forgot the other girl was even there. A thought nagged at the back of the former heiress’ mind; had Mabel forgotten her girlfriend was there? Was she about to kiss Pacifica? _Would Pacifica have_ **_let_ ** _her_? The tentative answers to all three in order were maybe, maybe, and...maybe. The brunette may as well change her name to the word, considering it embodied her more than the one her parents gave her. 

Candy continued, “Look, Paz. Before today I never really was sure where you and I stood. You’re very intimidating, you know.”

“I know.” 

“But I would like to be able to say I’m friends with the most popular girl in school, if for no other reason that we can commiserate about,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of the couple, “them together.” 

“Thank you Candy, I’d like that.” 

The other girl idly tugged at a blade of grass, mulling more words over in her mind before deciding to voice them, but in a whisper, “Also, like I said earlier, I’m happy for them. But I’m also totally a Mabifica shipper.” 

At the mention of the portmanteau between hers and Mabel’s names, Pacifica couldn’t help but let out a laugh, drawing Grenda’s suspicious eyes over her girlfriend’s shoulder. They made intense eye contact, but the moment passed and the larger girl returned to watching the festival-goers below. The severity of Grenda’s whole demeanor did nothing but cause Pacifica and Candy to snicker harder, tears of mirth threatening to spill over. 

The two newly-minted friends continued to talk about every subject imaginable: boys, school, the intricacies and lasting effects of the dissolution of Yugoslavia. Pacifica was surprised at how much she and Candy had in common. Candy had given the blonde some really interesting book recommendations, and Pacifica had returned the favor with her encyclopedic knowledge of film. They had exchanged numbers, and upon finding out that they were both planning on going to the hoedown throwdown, the girls promised to save a square dance for each other. 

Soon enough, the stars came out and Woodstick began to wind down. The masses all made their way to the parking lot, but in an effort to avoid the bottleneck in the lot, Grenda had elected to park the truck a street or two away. The longer walk seemed like a fair consolation at the time, but a couple blocks seem a lot further when one is exhausted and coming down from a high. The four girls trudged their way through the streets of Gravity Falls dirty, disheveled, and single-minded. Sleep was the only goal. 

Despite its small population, Gravity Falls’ downtown still had a bustling nightlife. The girls walked by warmly lit bars and restaurants. People sat outside to appreciate the warm Summer night, all illuminated by hanging strings of Edison bulbs. The group passed one such bar, with its dark brick facade and brocade awnings, that an elegantly dressed woman exited. Dressed in furs it was way too hot for, and sporting sunglasses despite the late hour, she held a coupe glass in her delicate fingers. Pacifica guessed that the drink of choice was a whiskey sour, because there was only one woman that could be. 

Priscilla Northwest hadn’t noticed the group yet, and since she was quickly herded into a town car, it was unlikely she would. Pacifica was suddenly rooted to the sidewalk as her friends carried on down the street, unaware of the exchange that had just taken place. 

Pacifica hadn’t seen her mother for almost three months, and the girl lived in fear of when their inevitable next meeting would occur. The dirty blonde hadn’t expected it to be a fleeting moment, but she felt the bile rise in her throat nonetheless. Her breathing sped up, and Pacifica could feel the eyes of the people dining outside, inquiring as to who she was, who _that woman_ was, and why the girl had stopped dead in her tracks, the other girls continuing on ahead. 

“Paz?” Someone called after her, but the sound was muffled. What would have happened if Priscilla _had_ seen her? Pacifica ran millions of scenarios through her head, but the answer she settled on was: probably nothing. If anything, it hurt a lot less that the girl went unseen. If mother and daughter had made eye-contact, it wasn’t like there would be any warmth there. There was no kindness before she was kicked-out. 

The meeting of the two Northwests would go like this: Priscilla and Pacifica make eye-contact, Priscilla ignores Pacifica and is quickly shuttled away by a myriad of servants. Pacifica is left sobbing on the concrete, tortured with the confirmation that she will never be a member of the family ever again. 

It seemed as though fate liked to tease. The not-knowing was worse punishment. Now the blonde was forced to once again wait for another fateful meeting, stuck in the purgatory of wondering what went on in her parents minds. 

“PAZ!” Someone shouted, but it still felt far away. The hand on her shoulder however, was immediate, and the blonde’s tearful eyes refocused on the three girls in front of her, all wearing looks of worry on their face. 

“What’s wrong? What happened,” Mabel rushed out, checking her friend for injuries of any kind.

Pacifica opened her mouth to speak, but found that she was still experiencing a severe case of cottonmouth. Clearing her throat, she absentmindedly touched the tips of her fingers to her right cheek, feeling the jagged skin of her scar. They came away wet with tears, but free of blood, as had been the case for sometime. But something stung just under the surface, and Pacifica’s eye twitched at the slight phantom pain. 

“I-I saw my mom,” she finally managed to get out. The group gasped, frantically searching the street for the other woman. 

“Did she see you,” asked Candy.

The blonde wiped her eyes, “No.” Mabel looked furious and Pacifica worried that she was going to force a detour to Northwest Manor so that she could personally fight Priscilla Northwest. Pacifica didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with that, so she stopped the idea before the other girl could even voice her thoughts, “I-I’m fine, you guys. Let’s just go home.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The drive back was silent, the only sound being the rumble of the tires and the incessant chirping of crickets and cicadas. They pulled up to Candy’s house, and the other girl shot Pacifica one last sympathetic look before promising that the blonde could text her if she wanted to talk. Pacifica nodded and the door was slammed, leaving the former heiress alone with Grenda and Mabel. 

Soon enough, the Mystery Shack came into view, and Pacifica hopped out the car as soon as possible, not even waiting for the truck to come to a complete stop before opening the door. She heard Mabel call after her, but all the blonde wanted to do was lie down. 

She wrenched open the front door of the shack and was greeted by Dipper, stationed in his usual place congealing to the couch, a bowl of cheese puffs balanced on his stomach. His eyes followed the sound of the door and Pacifica was planning on breezing right past him.

“Hey, how was Woodstick?” For a moment, the blonde stood stock still in the front hallway, contemplating whether to ignore him and go to bed, or to open up and tell the boy what happened. 

For so many years, Pacifica Elise Northwest tried to set herself onto the path to becoming a better, kinder person. For the most part, it worked, but every now and again, the desire to just bottle up all her feelings overtook her and she once more reverted to a snide comment or sarcastic remark. The girl had enough bottled up inside regardless, so how bad was adding one more jar to the tower, her inner demon, which sounded a lot like middle school Pacifica, enticed. 

But Pacifica wasn’t in middle school anymore; she was a completely different person. With a furrowed brow and a petulant stomp on the laminate floors, the girl turned on her heel and marched herself into the living room, sitting rigid beside Dipper on the couch. 

Once again, his expression was cautious, “Are you ok…?” 

At his question, Pacifica released a long breath and reclined into the sofa, allowing its plush cushions to envelope her. She ran a sweaty, grimy hand through her dirty blonde hair, “I saw my mom.” 

“Oh my god. Did she see you?”

Pacifica shook her head, “I’m kinda glad though. I don’t know what I’d do if she turned to me and spat on my face or something.” The girl smiled ruefully, “I thought your sister was going to pull a knife. It’s a good thing my mom escaped by car. We’re in enough legal hot water with those assholes as is.” 

Dipper leaned back on the couch, face full of shock. Pacifica rested her head on his strong shoulder. 

“ _Well_ **_shit_ ** , _Paz._ Do you want to talk about it?” 

She shook her head once more, allowing his brown locks to tickle her nose and forehead, “In the morning. I just need to rest. What are you watching?” 

The girl felt Dipper’s skin grow hot the way it did whenever he had to admit to doing something girly. Pacifica never thought less of the boy for it; in fact, she admired how he was mostly unashamed of his interests, no matter how traditionally feminine they might be. It was one of many things she liked about him. 

“Dipper, just spit it out. You know I don’t care.” 

The boy wheezed out a sigh, “The Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel.” 

“Ah, now I understand why you were watching a commercial for premium knitting needles. This channel is _shitty_.” 

“I know but there’s just something about Sturly Stembleburgiss. She’s electric.” 

Pacifica snorted out a laugh, “More like she’s super hot.” 

“Yeah that too.”

A beat passed between them. 

Dipper lightly tapped the girl’s wrist, tracing over the lines of her tattoo, “We can watch something else if you want, _soul-mate_ ,” the boy teased. 

“No, this is good. The music in this beats everything else I’ve heard today,” she replied, batting away his hand with a smirk. 

More comfortable silence passed between them. 

“I’m really glad you’re my friend.” 

“Me too, you goof.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do that poll question. I really like to know you guy's thoughts in any form. It’s open until December 26th, so if you find this fic before then, it’s still open. 
> 
> So leave comments and kudos! Maybe even message me on tumblr. 
> 
> Next chapter coming roughly August 11. I have a place I want to be by the end of the month, so I'm trying to keep my time-table rigid, but it's always so tempting to release chapters early. I might have something else to release before then though so be on the lookout for that ;)


	9. Fuck You, Arcade Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I earn the M rating. 
> 
> Sorry this took slightly longer than I intended. I'm kinda a Fallout stan now, but what can I say. Piper isn't going to romance herself. 
> 
> Anyway here's some fun facts:
> 
> 1\. The Arcade Fire song I had in mind in "Put Your Money On Me" which tbh forced this whole fic idea into my mind and wouldn't leave.  
> 2\. Here's a picture of the painting I had in mind for the one scene between Paz and Dipper: https://www.thebroad.org/art/robert-longo/untitled-men-cities-ellen
> 
> Anyway, hope you like it! Don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos!
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=AJATDpiTSC2-prd9KFgQfg

Pacifica examined herself in the mirror, pulling her Daisy-Dukes impossibly higher. The cool metal of the girl’s rings soothed her skin, heated by nerves, and she expertly rolled the sleeves of a red flannel shirt up to her elbows. The sun set outside the window of the attic bedroom, but the only button done up on her shirt was the middle one, leaving both her chest and stomach on display, just the way the blonde liked it. Oregon nights were cool, even in the Summer, but not cool enough to stop Pacifica from looking good.

“How do I look,” she said, turning to face her bored-looking companion. Dipper sat on the bed, cheek resting on the palm of his hand. Hot rollers filled his hair in an attempt to gussy up his usually straight hanging brunette locks. 

“You look fine. Can you take these out now? My scalp is starting to burn.” 

Her lithe hand patted the side of the boy’s face. Pacifica shaving Dipper’s face had become a routine for the two of them. He didn’t bother complaining anymore. That night, however, was a special occasion, so for a day or so, the girl had allowed him to grow out his beard, all towards the goal of making Dipper Pines look as rugged as possible. The effect was...surprisingly good. 

“The boy is related to Stan Pines,” the girl thought to herself, “Of course he’d have no problem growing a beard.

Pacifica continued to hold onto his face, turning it every which way to examine his visage from every angle, “Soon, my friend. I have a certain look in mind for your hair.”

“Which is?”

“The David,” his dumbfounded face made her chuckle, “Would you be open to some blush? Just on your nose and cheeks.” 

“ _No._ ” 

Pacifica pursed her glossed peach lips, “Maybe that’s for the best. Country boys are notoriously averse to make-up.” With that, she turned on her heel and went back to examining her own outfit. Running fingers through her long hair, she made quick work of two thin braids framing her angular face, “No really. What do you think of my look? You think it’s hot?”

Dipper scoffed, “I already said yes. What do you want me to do? Write a ballad about your beauty?”

“I mean, that would be nice. But I’m serious,” she gestured loosely to her frame, “You’ve got this beautiful woman in front of you. No reaction?” 

“Would it make you feel better if I smacked your ass?” 

“It would be the gentlemanly thing to do…” 

“If that’s your idea of gentlemanly, than it’s a good thing you’re gay,” he muttered but got up anyway. 

“ _What was that?_ ” 

“I said,” he would up the shot, bringing back his hand, “IF THAT'S YOUR IDEA OF GENTLEMANLY, THAN IT’S A GOOD THING YOU’RE GAY!” Dipper brought his arm back down with enough speed to break the sound barrier and made a firm connection with Pacifica’s butt. It stung, and the pain paired with the smack that was heard around the world made the girl jump and blush in surprise. 

A beat passed between them with heavy eye-contact. Then the two friends were on the floor, uncontrollably laughing at the sheer oddity of the situation. 

“Thanks. I really needed that confidence boost,” Pacifica managed to choke out between chuckles. 

“No problem,” responded Dipper, trying hard to catch his breath. Their laughter died down, leaving them to stare at the wooden breams of the ceiling with fond smiles, faces awash with the oranges and pinks of the setting sun. 

Pacifica scratched at the panels of the old oaken floor, “Did you ever have a crush on me?” She watched the steady rise and fall of her friend’s strong chest. Over the years, the boy had really grown into himself. He was by no means a beefcake, but there was still some muscle on the once spaghetti-like arms. 

“Maybe, I’m not really sure,” he started, brown eyes still flicking over all the details of the slats above, “I mean, puberty is like that-”

“ _Gross.”_

“Shut _up_ . Anyway, besides _that_ . You were the first friend I made in Gravity Falls that was my age, regardless of how roughly our friendship started out. Sure, there’s Candy and Grenda, but they’re really Mabel’s friends. I don’t know if I had actual romantic feelings, or if I was just caught up in how you were _mine._ N-not that you can be owned or anything...I just mean-” 

“I know what you mean. I am happy to be yours,” Pacifica said, poking him playfully in his still-casted arm. 

Dipper winced slightly, but continued, “Yeah. Mabel just has such an easy time getting people to like her. I like the feeling of having a friend I don’t necessarily have to share, as selfish as that is.”

A look of concern crossed Pacifica’s face and she sat up to get a better look at her best friend’s face, “Dipper...does it make you worried that I have feelings for your sister?” 

He knit two thick, unruly eyebrows together and scrunched up his nose in thought, “ _No_. It wouldn’t be fair of me.” 

“Well...even if it’s not fair you’re still allowed to feel it.”

Another moment of silence crossed the floor. The blonde could hear the gears turning in his head before he finally once again opened his mouth, “I’m confident enough in our relationship to trust that you wouldn’t do that to me.” 

A grin lit up Pacifica’s face, coaxing a smaller one out of Dipper, “Damn straight. We know far too much about each other to throw that all away over _some girl_.” 

“Yeah, as if Mabel is just _some girl,_ ” he said, laughing and mimicking her tone. 

“Haha yeah,” Pacifica pulled out her phone to check the time. The party started at nine; it was only eight, “Hey we’ve still got time, and it’s probably about time to take out those rollers. Let’s talk about something lighter.” 

Dipper perked up at that, bolting upright at the prospect of stopping the burning of his scalp, “Let’s do it. Did _you_ ever have a crush on _me_?” 

The girl’s eyes widened and she let out a sharp breath from her nose, “No lighter, but so be it.” 

“Wait, really? Why,” the brunette exclaimed, suddenly _very_ interested. 

The two of them got up from the floor to sit on the bed, Pacifica settling in behind the boy. She glared at him through the mirror on the other side of the room, to which Dipper found the courtesy to look sheepish.

“I really **_really_ **wanted to have a crush on you. It would have saved me a lot of heartache.” She removed the first roller, releasing a lock of chestnut brown hair into a bouncing curl. Pacifica squealed, delighted that her plan was coming together. “But alas, I am merely a homosexual, in love with another girl’s woman.”

Dipper shifted as she continued pulling out the curlers, “I want to tell you something, but you have to promise to not let it consume your thoughts.” 

The girl smirked as more perfectly formed ringlets sprung forth on top of Dipper’s head, “A weighty request, but granted.” 

“So like we talked about, Mabel doesn’t come to me about anything anymore, but the other night, when you were out running a last-minute delivery, I overheard Mabel on the phone to our mom...and Mabel was crying.” 

“...about what…,” the blonde asked, frowning. She watched in the mirror as Dipper chewed his lower lip, choosing his words carefully. 

“It sounded like she was upset because Grenda is moving too fast in their relationship and Mabel just isn’t there yet…” 

A spark was lit behind steely blue eyes, and Pacifica’s tone became clipped, “ _Oh, really._ ”

“Paz…,” the boy warned, shooting her quite the look. 

“Oh come on. You’re the one who brought this up.” 

Dipper continued, serious expression not leaving his face, “If you want to get into specifics...which I’m sure you _do_ ...look Mabel’s voice was really garbled and tear-filled and she was really difficult to understand BUT,” he cut Pacifica off before a word could even leave her mouth, “From what I _could_ make out, Grenda made a passing reference to the two of them getting married that Mabel did not react well to.” 

Pacifica sat in stony silence, which surprised the twin. He glanced turned his face to look at her, and as hard as she tried to keep her face neutral, a storm the size of the Pacific crashed against her eyes. She removed the last curler from his hair, letting loose a lock of wavy brown locks just above his eyes. Thin fingers ran through his hair in an effort to fluff it out; Dipper still stared at the universe being created behind the irises of his best friend’s eyes. He stared deep into the abyss, watching it consume Pacifica whole. 

“I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“Perhaps, but it’s too late now. Then again, I suddenly relate to Mabel on a much deeper level,” a small smile broken through pursed lips, “If Grenda Grendinator asked me to marry her, I’d totally freak out too.” 

Dipper sighed and let his head fall forward, relieved that the girl wasn’t in the throes of a full-fledged meltdown.

“Pick your head up. Tell me what you think of your look.” Dipper did as told, and Pacifica delighted in watching the boy take in his newly-curled hair. He twisted a lock around his finger, smirk slowly spreading on his stubbled face. 

“You know what, Paz,” he asked, still admiring her handiwork.

“What’s that?” 

Dipper turned to her, eyes bright like a polished copper pot, “God made you gay because he knew we’d be too powerful as a couple. I mean look at us!” He grabbed hold of the blonde’s chin and forced her to get a good look of their reflections. 

“ _We’re fuckin’ hot_ ,” they said together, erupting once more into a tidal wave of laughter. 

Pacifica played with the sleeve of Dipper’s pastel green, cotton button-up, running the smooth fabric between her fingers, “Do you like your hair?”

He went to run his hands through it, but a swift slap from the blonde stopped him from messing it up, “I do. You’re putting aloe on my head later, though.”

“Done. As long as I can shave you as soon as possible. Just looking at you makes my face itch, but anything for the aesthetic, I suppose. We just look so good together.” 

Dipper snorted out a chuckle, “Truly. By the way, I heard you and Mabel had quite the time thrift shopping yesterday.”

A noise of disgust came from the blonde’s throat, “It was awful. Not only did I feel humiliated by the abstract idea of thrift shopping, Mabel just...makes everything so much more complicated than it has to be. I just wanted to pick up a few things, then leave forever,” she threw her hands up in the air, “But _noooo_ we _had_ to try on every piece of clothing in store, accessories included. I have a ring size of seven, Mabel! Five and a half _ISN’T. GOING. TO FIT ME!_ ” 

Pacifica let out a long sigh as her face returned to its normal pale color. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, “It was all worth it since I got this bangin’ ensemble. Thank god Candy tagged along. She managed to corral Mabel over to the registers after only three hours. A miracle.” 

An alarm buzzed in the pocket of her denim shorts, stirring the girl from her mental venture into hell. She pulled it out; 8:45: time to get on the road. 

The friends stood up from the bed, giving each other one more once over before heading out. A calculating look appeared on Pacifica’s face, and she leaned forward to undo a button or two on Dipper’s shirt, making the boy turn red. 

The two of them made their way downstairs, where Pacifica grabbed a cream-colored cowboy hat from the bottom of the bannister. Situating it on top of flowing blonde hair, the girl smiled as Dipper shot her a goofy thumbs up. Both of them pulled on worn leather cowboy boots, prepared for a night of square-dancing. 

“You sure you’re a country girl,” the boy joked.

“All I’m saying is that everybody’s gangster until Dolly whips out Jolene.” 

The drive to the party was raucous. Between Pacifica’s certified country girl playlist, the girl herself singing along at the top of her lungs, and her singing being compounded when they picked up Candy. The blonde considered forcing Dipper to sit in the back seat, but couldn’t think of a way to do it without exposing her intentions. Candy _had_ sworn her to secrecy after all. 

She winked at the other girl from the rear-view mirror, smirking as Candy turned bright red. Dipper, who watched the interaction, narrowed his eyes at the blonde, “What was that?” 

“What was what,” Pacifica asked, laying the innocence on thick. The boy only grew more suspicious, but decided the intricacies of women weren’t worth his time, choosing to instead fiddle with the car radio. The two girls made eye-contact once more and were hard pressed to contain their giggles. Pacifica opened the roof, exposing the three friends to the warm wind of the late-August evening. 

Candy ran her hands along the smooth leather of the car seat, “Wow, Pacifica. I knew your car was nice, but these seats are just so comfortable.”

“Thanks,” the blonde replied smirking, “That’s the finest leather out of Turin. I don’t know what about Italians makes their skin the perfect texture for car seats, but I’m not one to ask questions.” The look on her car-mates’ faces was priceless. Dipper gaped at her, a squeaking sound emanating from the back of his throat. Candy tried her very best to stop touching the fabric. 

“You guys I’m joking, oh my god,” laughed Pacifica, unable to maintain the ruse for any longer. The other two let out a relieved sigh, nervous laughter coming from the both of them. 

“That is really high quality leather, though. So don’t spill anything on it.”

The remainder of the car ride was spent in excited chatter with theories about the craziness of the party being lobbed like tennis balls. The answers became clear when the beemer finally pulled up in front of a large Southern gothic revival house. It was only ten after nine, and though the party had only just started, it apparently was already in full swing. People poured out every door and window. Kegs were set up in the front lawn, already being used to their full potential, and the thrum of bass-boosted country made the beemer vibrate on its wheels. 

Dipper sat, amazed at the scene in front of him, “How...do they get away with this _every single year_? I mean, we’re in the middle of the neighborhood.” 

“Extremely rich family, second only to my own. Apparently all the neighbors get paid off in not only cash, but also monthly subscriptions to high quality fresh caught salmon filets,” Pacifica explained. She smirked, watching one of the high school football players butt chug a beer; This was the underbelly of Gravity Falls she couldn’t help be drawn too. 

“That’s...incredibly specific...how do you know that?” 

The socialite answered him, but still couldn’t tear her eyes away from the display, “Everyone knows that. Candy, you know, right?” The blonde turned in her seat to see the other girl nodding. Pacifica continued, “Also how could I not. My parents keep incredibly invasive tabs on the other members of Gravity Falls’ elite. How else would one monitor thy enemies to make sure they don’t surpass you,” the girl began counting on her fingers, “The Carters, the Quinns, the Snyders. All of em’. You tell me a name and I can spit back their yearly household income. I’m pretty sure I also know the combination to the safe in the Hales’ basement…” 

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Dipper said, always intrigued by his best friend, “How much did the Quinns take home last year.” 

“About $600,000 after taxes. He’s an attorney, she’s an orthopedic surgeon. Their son just graduated from Stanford.” 

“ _Damn_.” 

Just then, a familiar red pick-up truck pulled up behind the Beemer, horn going wild to get their attention. From the rear-view, Pacifica could see Mabel flailing around in the passenger seat, trying to flag down her friends. The blonde replaced the roof and turned the car off, signaling her passengers that it was time to enter the gauntlet. 

The horn was still blaring as the group approached the pick-up, “Ok _OK_ we see you! I’m literally seven feet away!” The truck’s door slammed open and Grenda grimaced, worried that her girlfriend had ripped it off its hinges. Mabel herself came barreling towards them and threw herself in Candy’s arms as the two girls gushed over each other's outfits. Pacifica admired her crush from afar. The usually ostentatious girl was dressed down in a simple, flowing, blue gingham dress. Dark brown cowboy boots accented with rhinestones clicked on the street, and wildflowers moved about in her chocolate brown hair as it was rustled by the breeze. The blonde’s heart welled at the idea of twirling the other girl around under her arm; hopefully Mabel would save a dance for her, though it seemed unlikely with Grenda always lurking on the sidelines. 

That was the thing with Grenda. As much as the two lovers were around each other, it seemed like most of the time Grenda didn’t spend it enjoying Mabel’s company. That had always struck Pacifica as strange, and also only served to make the Northwest girl all the more jealous. Mabel was such a lively and vibrant spirit who didn’t necessarily always have to be doing something, but never wanted to be bored. Grenda was content to simply stand around and look menacingly at any other person who tried to talk to Mabel, always a strong arm wrapped protectively around her girlfriend’s shoulders. 

Pacifica didn’t understand it. Mabel was meant to stand at the bow of a ship, hand in hand with a lover as water sprayed them both in the face. Why the brunette consented to being squirreled away in a windowless-cabin, the blonde would never know. Dipper had told her not to dwell on it, but Pacifica couldn’t help but be reminded of what he told her earlier that night in the sanctuary of the attic bedroom. Her blue eyes flicked back and forth between Mabel and Grenda, the latter of which held her signature snarl for all to see. No, it seemed, Mabel didn’t want this at all. 

But before she could sink in the quicksand of her thoughts any longer, Candy was pulling at Dipper’s hand, who in turn grabbed Pacifica’s leading them all inside to the belly of the beast. 

Inside it was deafening, but the bass drummed in Pacifica’s stomach at the exact frequency she liked it. People of all ages mingled in the shared space. Couples occupied every step of the grand staircase, each trying to devour the face of their lover. The whole house smelt of beer and grain alcohol to the point where it was possible to get drunk just from breathing the air. 

The group entered deeper into the home’s guts. Dipper turned to Pacifica, a horrified look on his face as he winced as passers-by jostled his casted arm. She knew he was completely the intellectual type; The blonde would know, she was the same way and it was one of many things the two friends connected over. Pacifica had been to her fair share of hog-wild ragers before, and judging by her friend’s expression, he was just not being initiated into Gravity Falls’ underground party scene. 

“Remember the party Stan threw at the shack my first Summer here,” the boy yelled at the top of his lungs, voice rasping with effort. 

“You mean the night we met? Of course I remember, why,” Pacifica screamed back, amused by Dipper’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. 

“I thought _that_ was a crazy party.” 

“That was fucking nothing!” 

They were still being pulled through the throng of people, destination unknown. The heat of the night compounded with all the bodies was cloying, and Pacifica’s breaths came in thick. She watched in slight disappointment as the Dipper’s lovingly crafted curls stuck to his forehead with a tenacity only a jackhammer could remove. Finally, the group made safe-harbor at the drink station, or three-fifths of the group, that is. Unsurprisingly, Grable had dematerialized somewhere along the way. 

“They’re probably giving each other hickeys in a closet somewhere,” a member of the Greek chorus said, dancing to the forefront of her mind. How romantic. 

“Maybe you should fi-” but as Pacifica grabbed and downed a red solo cup full of warm, bitter beer in one long pull, the connection between herself and her inner monologue was cut off for the rest of the night. Tonight, Pacifica Elise Northwest ran on animal instincts. The girl dolled out drinks to her friends while also grabbing another one or two for herself. Dipper took one swig and immediately retched, forced to hold a hand over his mouth so as to not spray his companions with beer. After seconds of struggling, he finally managed to swallow it down, but eyed the two girls in front of him as they sipped their alcohol as if it was water. Candy was already reaching for her second round. 

“You guys I want to go dance,” Candy screeched behind a cup of Bud Lite, and with that, Dipper and Pacifica were once more being pulled through the fray. On their journey, the blonde took note of how every decorative piece was either broken or off-kilter. It was fine. The family was rich and they could replace it. On the other hand, the shattered vase surrounded by suspicious gray power that the blonde gingerly stepped over, might be a problem. 

Breaking through back to the outdoors, a dance floor was set up on the back lawn, accompanied by a very elaborate DJ booth. Lads and lasses circled each other, seamlessly weaving and bobbing along to the square dancing instructions. It was here that Grenda and Mabel reappeared, enjoying the rhythm. Pacifica watched as Mabel’s hair bobbed and fluttered with each step, a huge grin gracing her features. 

She turned to Dipper, who’s look of generalized apprehension had subsided, “You remember the crash-course I gave you this morning?” 

“I-I think so…”

“Great!” She grabbed hold of Candy and Dipper, dragging them onto the floor, “Let’s go!” Soon the sound of their boots synchronized with the groups, and the unanimous thud of heel on wood sounded in time with the bass boosted country music. Fireworks popped and fizzled overheard. Pacifica’s bangs began sticking to her forehead and the dirty blonde tendrils slightly obstructed her vision. It was no problem, muscle memory would carry her through till the cows came home. 

“Do-Si-Do!” 

“Ladies’ Chain!

“Allemande left!” 

With each call, Pacifica let herself be moved by the music even more, and she was glad to see Dipper become more comfortable as well. Swinging on the arms of every partner, the blonde’s boots kicked up a storm of dirt and noise and she clutched onto her cowboy hat to keep it from falling off and getting trampled. She swung from Dipper to his sister, reveling in the warm smoothness of her hands in her own. The way Mabel caressed her wrists was not lost on Pacifica, nor was the salacious wink sent her way as she returned Pacifica back to her twin. The hem of Mabel’s skirt was tinged green and brown with dirt and grass stain, and the girl looked like she was having the time of her life. The buzz of beer momentarily short-circuited any ill will she felt towards the other girl and her girlfriend, and Pacifica was able to just let herself be happy for them. They _were_ celebrating the twins’ birthday after all. In two days, Dipper and Mabel would be full-fledged adults. The blonde had a whole list of tattoo ideas to pitch to them with their newly-minted maturity, but that could wait for another night. In the moment, the song was coming to an end, and Pacifica was getting tired and dizzy, sated by the camaraderie of it all. 

With one more hit of the fiddle, and one more turn around the floor, the country song ended to a round of cheers. 

“Do you want another drink,” Pacifica yelled to Mabel. 

“We’ll catch up with you later,” the other girl yelled back, already being pulled away by her girlfriend. Pacifica herself felt a sweaty palm grab hers, and she and Dipper were once more dragged inside the house. 

“You guys claim a place for us to chill for awhile,” said Candy, pushing through the hundreds of people packed into the living room like sardines, “I’ll go get us another round of drinks.” Dipper and the blonde shot the black-haired girl a thumbs up, and the three of them parted ways. Pacifica led Dipper through the home, always making sure to keep his large hand locked with hers, worried about losing the boy to the crowd. They made their way upstairs, nimbly stepping over and around affectionate couples on every step, until they finally found a free space on the catwalk overlooking the lower level. 

Sliding down the slats in the bannister, the two friends settled on the supple tan carpet. The pulse of the music from outside felt like a light soundtrack to the night. Apparently the DJ had grown tired of solely country, as the genre shifted into synth-rock beats that Pacifica felt on a molecular level. 

“God, this is a great song,” she said, closing her eyes and nodding her to the drums. Her index finger tapped out the lyrical rhythm on the smooth skin of her best friend’s hand. 

“Who is this, I can barely hear it. My ears are still ringing.” 

“It’s Arcade Fire.” 

“I love Arcade Fire,” the two said in unison. Pacifica reopened her eyes and turned to face Dipper, finding a wealth of bronze in his shining eyes. She furrowed her brows slightly and leaned the tiniest bit closer as the boy did the same. 

“You feel it, right,” the girl whispered, running her hands over the exposed skin of his forearms. She traced the freckles that dotted the flesh, blushing as she felt his shiver under her touch. 

“Yeah…” 

“I’m not about to steal your first kiss am I?” 

“No.” 

“Really! We’ll talk about that lat-,” but she was cut off by the chapped lips of her best friend covering her own. Her brow scrunched up further as the mechanisms sprung to life in her mind. She felt...nothing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Dipper’s lips were dry and the scratch of his stubble irritated her delicate skin. The realizion made her laugh and she snorted against Dipper’s mouth, pulling away to try and hide her sheepish laughter behind a manicured hand. 

“Nooo...we don’t have to do that again…,” Pacifica said, cringing. She was relieved to see an equally uncomfortable look on Dipper’s face. 

“Agreed.” 

Her thoughts once again drifted to Mabel, as they often did. Were her lips like her brother's? Right now the only confirmed people who knew the answer were Mermando and Grenda, and Pacifica wasn’t about to reach out to either of them for comment. She let out a sigh as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her blonde head leaned forward to rest against the strength of Dipper’s chest. He rubbed comforting circles into the small of her back and lifted them both to their feet. 

“Let’s talk. We can find somewhere more private.” Pacifica nodded a response, alcohol really starting to weigh heavily on her hazy mind. Picking up two stray cups, the pair made a detour to the bathroom to grab some water. They wandered the upper floors, opening doors to explicit scenes until they finally found a bedroom that was empty. 

The two friends sat on the bed in the middle of the large room, resting their backs against the headboard. She didn’t bother to kick off her boots even though streaks of dirt already began appearing on the Egyptian cotton covers. On the opposite wall, a portrait of a woman sat framed, spanning the height of the room. Dressed in a white sweater and black skirt and heels, her body contorted in such a way that she faced away from the viewer, eyes obscured by her raised right arm. The painting intrigued Pacifica. Something about it spoke to her, be it the pose that looked like a dance move, or the fact that the blonde simply liked her outfit. She stared at the canvas unblinking for some time, until Dipper finally broke the relative silence and snapped her out of her trance. 

“Was kissing me _that_ bad that it made you cry?” 

Pacifica turned to him with a wry smile, “No, I just...I just thought of your sister,” the boy opened his mouth to speak, but the girl continued before he got the chance, “I’m worried that I’m not going to want anyone else if I can’t have her.” 

“Paz, you won’t be alone forever. You’re not alone now. You have me, and Stan, and Candy, and you _do_ have Mabel, even if it’s not in the way you’d like,” Dipper soothed, shifting on the bed. 

“I-I know. I just see the way she and Grenda interact and I can’t help but feel so _angry_ because deep in my heart I’m convinced that I’m better for her than the brute.” 

“Don’t call Grenda that...or at least don’t let Mabel hear you say that. I think…that even if you would be better for Mabel...which, _just for the record_ , I personally believe is true...you’re in no state to be with anyone, let alone her.”

The tears began again, falling freely and forming a lump in the blonde’s lithe throat, “I just want to be a whole person again. It’s not that I think I’d be happier if I hadn’t been kicked out, but I sure wouldn’t feel worse. It’s been three months, Dipper, when will I start to feel like me again?”

Dipper himself teared up at the sight of his tortured friend, “Don’t say that. You were in an abusive situation. At least you’re safe now.”

“But I’m _not_ safe! Every time I hear a noise that even slightly resembles a bell, I still collapse in on myself. I’m in constant fear of being arrested for crimes I didn’t even commit, and on top of it all, the burden of how I’m going to pay for college in a year is just...the chef’s kiss.” Speaking of collapsing, Pacifica crumpled into Dipper’s arms, a sobbing mess. 

“I’m worried about college too,” he admitted, voice thick, “I mean, in two days I will legally lose my childhood and I’m just supposed to be ok with that? At least you still have six months to go.” 

Pacifica sniffled and wrinkled her nose, “Why are _you_ worried about college? Haven’t you been the presumptive valedictorian since freshman year?”

Dipper began ticking off his fingers, “I’m worried that I exist in a bubble and everyone in college is going to be smarter than me. I’m worried about never being able to settle on a topic I want to pursue a career in. I’m worried about losing touch with Mabel because I already know we’re not going to go to the same school. I’m worried about drifting apart from you-” He cut himself off, finding it too difficult to speak. 

“We’re never going to drift apart.” 

“How can you be so confident in that?” 

Pacifica managed a weak smirk, “I’m confident in our relationship. Plus, we know too much about each other,” she said, echoing their sentiments from earlier in the night. 

“I love you, Paz.” 

“I love you too, Dip.” 

Their heart-to-heart was then rudely interrupted by the slamming open of the bedroom door. Two lovers fell onto the carpeted floor below, breathing through each other with breaks only long enough to tear off various articles of clothing. The two remained unaware of Pacifica and Dipper, even as the two friends swiftly made their exit back into the hallway. 

They shut the door behind them, and after a moment of awkward silence in the hallway, cracked up into laughter. 

Pacifica wheezed, hands propped on her knees, “By the way, who was your first kiss?” 

“Oh! Um,” the brunette started, turning a beautiful shade of vermillion, “Her name was Alison. It’s kind of a funny story actually. This was at homecoming sophomore year. During the dance, I really had to pee, but accidentally wandered into the girl’s bathroom. Luckily there was no one there, but I heard crying coming from one of the stalls, so I went to investigate.”

“Dipper Pines, certified women’s restroom snoop-”

“Shut up. Anyway, she was on the floor blubbering about how her boyfriend dumped her or something, so I did my awkward best to comfort her, and I guess as a thanks or something, she kissed me. On the floor of the girl’s bathroom. It was really...wet...and salty...cuz the tears ya know,” he explained, gesturing loosely to his face. 

“Huh. I mean you do have that kind of sweaty charm. Some girls like awkward. Good for you, buddy.”

The boy chuckled, “Thanks, I think. Should we get back to it?” 

Pacifica readjusted her cowboy hat and got to her feet, “Let’s do it.” 

They went back downstairs, once more maneuvering between the masses, this time going one floor lower to the basement of the house where a lounge of sorts was set up. It was quieter down there, filled only with the mumbled of casual conversation. The air was hazy with smoke, and by the smell of it all, people were partaking in both tobacco and weed. Someone offered Pacifica a cigarette, and without thinking too hard about it, accepted it and stuck the stick between her still glossy lips, allowing the end to be lit with a flip lighter. The girl nodded her thanks and blew a wave of smoke out her nose. 

She and Dipper settled into an old plush couch, sinking deep into the cushions. The girl offered him the cigarette, which he took with intrigue. Sucking in a deep breather, the boy immediately choked as he did with the beer soon after they arrived. The sight made Pacifica laugh and she thumped her friend on the back as he coughed and hacked, taking the smoke back from his shaking fingers. 

“I’m starting to think that you actually are kind of country,” he said, voice weak. 

“Told ya.” The blonde took another drag off the cigarette. As the smoke cleared, she made eye contact across the room with a girl leaning heavily against a pool stick, waiting as her companion took his shot at the cue. The girl had wavy dark brown hair, and the denim shirt she wore accentuated her curves perfectly. 

“You know,” Dipper said, face returning to its normal color, “That girl has been making bedroom eyes at you since we walked in the room” 

“R-Really?” 

“Yeah.” The boy shoved her off the couch, causing Pacifica to stumble a couple paces, nervously glancing between him and the mysterious woman. 

“Go talk to her.” The blonde bit her lip, but after one more encouraging push from Dipper, let her boots carry her across the room. 

“H-hey,” Pacifica stuttered out, immediately embarrassed by her own awkwardness.

“Well good evening Miss. Northwest,” the brunette girl drawled out. Up close, the girl’s eyes were as coffee brown as her hair, “You are looking mighty fine tonight.” 

“Haha, thanks. So are you,” the blonde said, regaining some of her confidence. She reached forward and tucked a dark curl behind the girl’s ear. The mystery woman leaned into her touch, spurring Pacifica on further, who let her fingers trace the strong jaw and down her neck and chest. 

“Would you...be interested in getting out of here?” Her sultry voice was velvet to the former heiress’ ears. She glanced behind her and shared a look with Dipper, who grinned and gave her two thumbs up.

Pacifica gulped, turning back to face the onyx eyes of the other girl, “I would, but I don’t think either of us are in a state to drive-”

“I live next door.” 

“Oh. One moment please.” The blonde trotted back over to her friend and twirled a piece of his curled brunette hair around her slender finger, “Sooo...she wants me to leave with her…”

“You should go.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, “Really? You’ll be ok?”

“I’ll be fine. Give me your keys.” Pacifica did as she was told, also handing over the cigarette, then nervously crossed the room again. She turned to Dipper one final time, who mouthed ‘go’ and gave her a large smile. 

The brunette girl smirked at her, “Ready to go?” 

“Yeah, but on one condition.”

“Name it.”

Pacifica drummed her fingers on the girl’s hip, “You have to let me sample some of that sacred high quality fresh caught salmon.” 

The other girl grabbed Pacifica’s cowboy hat and placed it on top of her own brown curls, “As you wish.” 

The walk through the party was awkward, but in an unusual way. It didn’t really matter to the Northwest girl that she was leaving to presumably have sex with a stranger. Strangers didn’t exist in Gravity Falls. Even if she didn’t exactly know the girl’s name, she definitely knew her face. Maybe they had even shared a class or two. What really made it uncomfortable was the pronounced sexual tension and anticipation that crackled around the two girls. They walked through the dew of the front yard where the same guy was butt chugging another beer. They came to a halt at the next house over, a much smaller house, but one still very nice considering the neighborhood they were in. After a few fumbled attempts to bring together the key and lock, the brunette finally pushed the door open to reveal a dark house. 

“My parents are out of town. Can’t stand the noise from the party every year.” Pacifica nodded in understanding, and once the door shut behind them, allowed herself to be led upstairs, passing family pictures and decorative signs of all shape and size on the way. 

Another door opened and an overhead light flicked on. The blonde took in the room around her. Posters for various bands and movies plastered the walls and the ceiling was dotted with glow in the dark stars. As she kicked off her cowboy boots, Pacifica flexed her toes to take in the feeling of the cool waxy hardwood under foot. “You have a really nice ro-” 

Full lips met hers and the girl was lovingly, yet firmly pushed back until the back of her knees collided with the bed, to which she was pushed onto. Reconnecting their lips, Pacifica kissed back with a passion, hand running through soft brown hair and across smooth tanned skin. They broke apart for air and the girl hovered above her, lips poised to dive back in. 

“Are you sure about this,” she asked instead. 

“Yes.” And with that, the two girls pounced on each other once more. A calloused hand scraped their nails on Pacifica’s exposed stomach, and the blonde’s breath hitched as she felt another make quick work of her shirt and bra. Lying on the bed naked from the waist up, she watched in awe as her lover sat up, still straddling her hips, and removed her own clothes, pants included. The brunette had a tattoo of a lion on her ribs, which Pacifica reached forward to trace, feeling the goosebumps her touch raised on the other girl’s skin. 

Her lover leaned back down, this time kissing the chord of Pacifica’s throat, causing the blonde to lean her head back to allow more direct access. Her daisy-dukes were disposed of, and finally Pacifica was able to revel in the feeling of skin to skin. She gasped as an eager mouth kissed a line down to her chest and swallowed a bare breast, running the tongue expertly around Pacifica’s nipples. Moans escaped the blonde’s mouth, and they only got louder and more frequent as the other girl switched sides, then continued her journey further down Pacifica’s body. 

The brunette paused, at the intersection of Pacifica’s legs, and, looking up at the blonde with wide, blown-out pupils, whispered, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. _Please_.” That was all the confirmation needed because a second later, the girl’s hot mouth made contact with Pacifica’s center, causing the girl to jolt in pleasure and fly her hands into the other girl’s thick, inky, curls, gripping them for dear life. 

The music from the party next door was still audible, but the roaring of blood in the socialite’s eyes drowned out all other sounds. Soon pressure and tightly-coiled pleasure built up in the girl’s stomach, and a few seconds later, ripped out of her with a loud cry of passion. Shockwaves rocked her body and her iron-clad grip on the brown curls slackened and every synapse in Pacifica’s brain fired in tandem. 

Eyes shut tight and breathing heavily through her nose, she felt her lover reemerge to place a slippery kiss to an angular cheek. When Pacifica’s blue eyes finally broke open, they were met with the self-satisfied smirk of the other girl: the look of someone who didn’t need to be told that they did a good job. 

As Pacifica’s brain landed back to earth, she thought about how only three months ago, she hadn’t even had her first kiss. Now, there she was, the end of the same Summer, losing her virginity to another mystery woman. 

Said mystery woman settled beside her on the bed, gently poking the tattoo emblazoned on the blonde’s right wrist. The air was hot, and the sound of distant house music made for a good atmosphere. 

Would this night have happened if she had stayed with her parents? Probably not, considering it only occurred due to the domino effect of her infamous Memorial Day kiss. 

Pacifica closed her eyes and chuckled, thinking of Dipper of all things. The boy was right, even if it wasn’t obvious at every moment. She _was_ better off without Preston and Priscilla. She rolled around in the bed, firmly latching onto the other girl’s neck, communicating that she was ready for round two. 

Pacifica smirked against her paramour’s sweet tasting skin. Yeah, she totally would have gotten kicked out of the house either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poll is still open! So if you haven't yet, give that a look: https://linkto.run/p/B1V3MRAJ 
> 
> Next chapter approximately August 25th. See you then!


	10. If Not Now, Then When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I warned you that this was going to be a long story. 
> 
> In other news, the poll result I was leaning towards is losing! Yay! You're all dead to me! jk jk. If you haven't checked that out yet, here's the link: https://linkto.run/p/B1V3MRAJ 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=LvhPVMMdSKuNzrRY3AhVxQ
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos! I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter! It sure is something lol

The water was cool, and Pacifica’s platinum blonde hair flowed behind her like the wind. She dove deeper, and like so many times before, brushed her hand over the smooth, shimmering mosaic ‘NW’ on the bottom of the pool on her family’s estate. The girl’s eyes, nose, and throat stung from the salt water, but at least the tips of her hair wouldn’t turn green this time. 

It was freeing, and when Pacifica finally broke through to the surface, her bobbing head was immediately met with the comforting warm rays of the afternoon sun. She caught her breath, floating, and appreciated the familiar luxury all around her: Perfectly manicured grass surrounded by a perimeter of tall, boxy hedges. Luxury pool chairs were strewn around the deck in such a way the was so perfectly random, it had to have been meticulously planned. 

It was the scrape of one such chair that drew Pacifica’s attention away from her mother’s prized rose bushes. She turned in the water, creating a symphony of ripples on the pool’s surface. Padding towards the water’s edge was a grinning Mabel, dressed only in a swimsuit, sporting a pristine pearly white towel around her neck. The cocoa brown eyes that Pacifica always got lost in were obscured by large, mirror glass sunglasses. 

The brunette crouched right next to the water and the blonde swam over to meet her, their smiles matching. 

Mabel said something, but the sound was muffled as if Pacifica was still underwater, “what was that,” she asked, raising herself out of the pool in order to get closer. 

“I said,” Mabel repeated, the sound suddenly snapping to full focus. The girl’s smile did not falter, but the fact that Pacifica was unable to see her eyes made the Northwest girl very uncomfortable, “I hope you slept well.” A soft hand reached out, caressing the side of the blonde’s sharp features. It took everything in the girl’s power to resist leaning further into the touch. 

“Huh?” 

Then, without warning, the hand on her cheek suddenly moved to the top of her head. Completely caught off guard, Pacifica was helpless to fight against the strength pushing her back under water. She kicked and thrashed, but it was no use, especially after Mabel added the power of her other hand. Briny salt water entered every orifice, causing Pacifica to gag. Her frenzied blue eyes stung as they widely stared, pleading at the scene just on the other side of the liquid barrier. Mabel’s grin hadn’t slipped an inch. The spires of Northwest manor towered behind the other girl, and the heiress quickly felt her strength slipping away. It became harder and harder to fight and it felt like she was sprinting through molasses. With one last half-hearted kick, Pacifica Northwest sank down into the depths, her body coming to sit right on top of her own stony initials. Her vision began fading to black, its last look being the water logged sky over Gravity Falls. 

Another Pacifica, in another time and place, shot up in bed, coughing and retching and grasping at unfamiliar covers. Her eyes darted around the room as she absentmindedly licked her lips, swearing that the taste of salt still lingered on them. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, checking it’s color: tawny as the day she was born.

The girl was alone. Sunlight poured in in slats through a blind-covered window; a glance at her phone told her it was about ten in the morning. The same posters a glow in the dark stars graced the walls and ceiling as Pacifica slipped out from under navy blue sheets and began redressing in her now wrinkled clothes from the night before. Her first ever walk of shame was approaching...or maybe it wasn't, as being ashamed was kind of a prerequisite, and the blonde felt no ounce of bashfulness at all. 

Boots in hand, she walked across the plush carpeting into the hall and down the stairs. Family portraits and shadow boxes of baby shoes dotted the walls in a very intimate display. Catching her reflection in a passing mirror, Pacifica blushed at the sight of her mussed hair and smeared makeup. The red and purple marks across her neck and shoulders completely her look: Just Fucked Chic.

Finally reaching the kitchen, the object of last night’s affections reappeared, casually sipping a mug of coffee on a barstool at the kitchen island. Pacifica cleared her throat, causing the other girl, who’s hair was a comparable mess to hers, to glance up and smile at the discovery of her lovely interloper. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” she said, raising the mug in a salute, “Would you like some coffee?” 

Pacifica kicked at the floor, rooted to the spot, “Um...no thanks. I’m kind of picky about that kind of thing,” she responded, letting out an awkward laugh. 

Lover girl took another pull off her coffee, scanning Pacifica with her charcoal eyes, “I suspect you’re picky about a lot of things.”

“That’s probably true.” 

The mug clinked on the marble countertop and Pacifica’s lover moved to stand up, sliding up to the blonde with a quickly approaching kiss. She accepted it with enthusiasm, momentarily losing herself in the embrace of the dark-haired girl. They broke apart with a pop, arms snaking around each other’s waists. 

“I suspect you’ll be leaving me,” the brunette said in between quick pecks on the lip. 

Pacifica planted one more deep smooch before drawing away, letting her arms fall to her side, “It’s time.” Her crooked smile was met with an equalling fond one. 

The other girl began searching for her car keys, but before she could, an idea popped into the Northwest girl’s brain. 

“Actually...I was wondering if you have a bike.” 

“I do…” 

“Can I borrow it? I promise to return it,” the girl asked, laying the puppy dog eyes on thick. 

The shorter of the two chuckled and shook her head, “Sure. Go for. It’s got a basket and a bell and everything Gravity Falls’ golden girl could want.” 

So after one more (ten more) parting kiss, Pacifica flew down the streets of her town on a borrowed bike, barefoot and hollering in unbridled joy. The wind in her hair made her feel unstoppable and faster than the speed of light. The celebrations of the previous night had finally began to settle, and nothing in the world could rip the smile from her face. Sure, the party wasn’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to her, but the loss of her virginity to a beautiful woman? Now that was something to write home about. 

Pacifica giggled, then laughed, then laughed so hard she almost lost control of the bike. It was strange, really. Her life was stagnant for over 17 years, and then due to the events of just one night, everything changed, and kept changing over the previous three months. She went from Pacifica Northwest: Repressed girl that boys dreamt of going home with to Pacifica Northwest: Certified lesbian that goes home with mysterious unnamed women. 

The teeth marks on her neck would have sent both herself and her mother to an early grave; all the more reason to display them out and proud. Pride. Something Pacifica had struggled with and probably would continue to struggle with for the rest of her life. Oft confused with vanity, it wasn’t until recently that the girl had really learned the meaning of the word. She had friends, she had a business, she was living a more authentic life, but there was still something that wriggled at the back of her mind. 

It was the fear of judgement. At one point in time, Pacifica was immune to it, at least in public. But ever since the news of her fall from grace had snaked around town, the blonde sensed that a target had been painted on her back. People weren’t doing anything yet, but she knew that the townies of Gravity Falls had... **_thoughts_ **...on the Northwest clan, and one tiny toe on the line could mean her receiving the full brunt of their ire. 

“Happy thoughts, Pacifica,” she thought, swerving around a parked car, “Happy thoughts.”

A reminder chimed in the back of her brain, causing the girl to pedal as fast as she could: Mabel’s birthday gift. The present itself was already conceived of, but between pulling shifts at the grill and generalized laziness, she had been procrastinating putting it together. Dipper and Mabel were leaving tomorrow. It was now or never. 

Arriving home, Pacifica threw the bike into the grass and rushed inside, taking the elevator down to Stanford Pines’ hidden lab. Or what _used to be_ Stanford Pines’ hidden lab. Years ago, Ford left once more, traveling across the corners of the Earth searching for and documenting any and all anomalies he came across. The man still occasionally visited Gravity Falls to visit his brother or to take a slight breather from his last daring escape. Thus, the underground facility went largely unused, making it the perfect place for Pacifica to set up a dark room. 

Stepping into the void, Pacifica was greeted by the sour smells of developer and fixer. Flipping a switch, the room became bathed in an otherworldly amber glow as the photographer got to work. She examined contact sheets, spooled and unspooled rolls of film, all in pursuit of choosing the perfect photograph. The time flew and her hands became slick with the chemicals. At some point, she heard some kind of commotion from just outside the darkroom door, but was too engrossed in her task to investigate further. 

“ _Mabel don’t, you can’t let any light in_ ,” she heard Dipper chastise his sister. So Mabel was looking for her. Well, that would have to wait; Pacifica had stuff to do.

Finally, after hours of searching, developing, and scaling to size, Pacifica placed a photo of the gang into a simple wooden frame. She stared back at her own face and the faces of her friends. Their smiles were lit up from the Fourth of July’s fireworks display, awash with reds, blues, and golds. Pacifica was confident that Mabel would love it, what with her scrapbooking nature. The local history book the blonde had purchased for Dipper was sure to be a hit as well, but the photo held more weight. Mabel Pines was difficult to shop for, so in response to that, Pacifica didn’t shop for her. 

The intimacy of it all made Pacifica a little nervous, but Mabel was leaving the following day, she reasoned. There wouldn’t be a chance to talk about it in person. 

Satisfied with her work, the girl returned to the surface and sat at the Shack’s kitchen table, wrapping the gifts for her friends. 

“Uh...hey…,” Dipper said, awkwardly shuffling into the kitchen, “Mabel was looking for you…” 

“So I heard,” Pacifica responded, tearing a piece of tape. 

“Yeah, sorry about that...if we disturbed you that it...but it would have been way worse if I hadn’t stopped Mabel from going in there. I know you work really hard on your photography and stuff.”

She finished wrapping the present and looked up, observing how skittish Dipper was, “What’s wrong?” 

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, “Just...go upstairs. She’s up there waiting for you, burning a hole in the floor from her pacing.” 

A slight nod then Pacifica got up from the table, taking the gifts with her. The march upstairs was...confusing. Dipper hadn’t given up anything, to the point where Pacifica wasn’t sure what the tone of the conversation she was about to have would be. Was Mabel upset? Mad? Overjoyed? What the hell was this all about? 

She reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the door, revealing a stomping and fuming Mabel Pines. Her head whipped around at the sound of the door, and Pacifica could feel dark brown eyes boring into her back as she placed the gifts inside the desk to be retrieved the next day.

Walls ascended around Pacifica’s heart and mind with an archer poised to strike on every tower. Her body went into defense mode. The blonde swiveled on her heel, coming face to face with the bull commonly known as Mabel. She held her hands up in question, “What?”

Pacifica could hear the difficulty Mabel was having with keeping her breathing under control from across the room. The brunette swallowed and asked, “Where were you last night?”

“I spent the night with a friend.” 

Mabel sneered, “Oh a friend? Is that all?” 

The blonde scoffed, “ _Okay, fine_ . I went home with a girl from the party and we fucked. Is _that_ what you wanted to know? What’s going on here?” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going?” 

“I told Dipper...which I’m assuming is how you know now…” 

The color of her friend’s face was nearing that of a firetruck, “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

Too many questions for Pacifica’s taste, but still, she answered, “You...weren’t around. I didn’t feel the need to search an entire house of drunks just to tell you I wasn’t going to be home.” 

“So what. You just leave? Let Dipper drive your car home drunk?”

“That’s not on me,” Pacifica argued, voice growing louder and more clipped, “I also doubt that he drove drunk anyway. Mabel, _what is this about_?” 

The other girl turned away, unable to look her friend in the eye. 

“Mabel…” 

Pacifica still received only Mabel’s back. No one turns their back on a Northwest. 

“ **MABEL LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME WHAT THIS IS ABOUT. NOW.** ” 

The brunette rounded on Pacifica, compensating by getting mere centimeters away from her friend’s face, “ _You want to know what this is about? Just the thought of you with-_ **_UGH_ **-” She cut herself off. 

The unfinished phrase rooted the Northwest girl to the floorboards, mouth open, “... **_WHAT?!_ **” A few seconds of heavy silence passed, “You’ve got to be joking my ass.” A raging storm of a headache formed on Pacifica’s temples and she massaged them in a futile effort to quell the thunder. 

Mabel’s scowl deepened, but if anything she got even closer to the blonde, their noses touching, “Oh come _on_ , Paz. She looked just like me.” 

Pacifica sputtered, not caring that she probably just spit in Mabel’s face, “Wha-what? Not every person with brown hair and eyes looks ‘just like you’, you brat.” 

The fire in the other girl’s eyes flared at being called names. The former heiress watched the tensing of her jaw. The air was silent, but what little space was left between them crackled with every emotion known to man. Feeling the magnetism, Mabel pursed her lips and leaned her head to the side, moving to close the gap between them. 

Pacifica’s bright blue eyes widened, “DON’T,” she yelled, giving Mabel a hard shove on the shoulders which sent the other girl staggering back. The brunette sat hard onto one of the springy mattresses, staring up at Pacifica through strands of chocolate hair. They were both breathing like they had just sprinted a mile. 

Mabel’s mouth moved, forming a barrage of words. No sound came out until, “Tell me to break up with her.” 

“No.”

“ _Pacifica_ , tell me to end it with Grenda.” 

“NO. It’s not my place.”

“Don’t you want me to be happy, Miss. Priss?”

The blonde ran her tongue over her teeth, “That’s not on me,” she settled on saying. 

“Why can’t you ever go after what you want,” Mabel yelled. Back to screaming at each other it is. 

Pacifica broke her neck with how fast she whipped around, “ _What?_ **_You_ **are the one who’s begging for intervention.”

The brunette’s voice grew desperate, “ _Pacifica_ . I _know_ you have feelings for me. I’m laying mine at your feet. **_Pick. Them. Up._ **”

“ **NO**.” 

“ **_URGH._ **Why won’t you just take what you want? I know you hate your old self, but can’t you channel her for just a second and be assertive for once in your miserable life?!” 

The blonde felt her blood boil and she stalked back towards her “love”, sizing her up to see if she’d be able to check the girl out the window. Her voice a deadly hiss, “ _I. Don’t. Know._ **_How_ ** _. You think after a lifetime of being handed every possible opportunity that I can just go around saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’? Like I’m a_ **_normal_ ** _person_?” 

Pacifica let the words hang between them. Mabel took the opportunity to _really_ get a _good_ look at her friend. The athlete was turning gaunt, with a leaner face and coal-like rings under her eyes. The eyes. Her baby-blues, usually bursting with expression, looked icy and bombed-out. The shell of a woman stood before her. 

Mabel narrowed her eyes, “Well, to quote you, ‘that’s not on me’. Paz, what’s this _really_ about,” she asked, suspicious creeping into her tone. Full lips snapped shut with a click as Pacifica took her turn in turning her back on the situation. Deep brown eyes flicked back and forth as reason snapped into focus in her mind, “Oh. I see. You’re still upset about how I tricked you into giving Grenda a job.”

“You broke my trust,” the curtain of blonde hair muttered. 

Mabel threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, “That was nearly two months ago. Get over it already.” 

“My parents threw me out three months ago. You don’t see me rockin’ up to Northwest Manor with an olive branch, begging for them to take me back.” 

The other girl scoffed. Pacifica found herself beginning to hate the sound of Mabel’s voice as it said, “Well there it is. Playing your trump card again, huh,” she lowered her voice to a smoky husk in a cruel imitation, “ _I’m Pacifica and I got kicked out of the house. Life is sooo hard for me now that I’ve gotten out of that abusive situation. I don’t even know how to use a blender without spraying fruit all over the walls and floors.”_

She switched back to her normal voice, if not a disgusted version of it, “God, I feel so _stupid_. I’ve always felt something for you, even when you hated me-”

“I never hated you.” 

Mabel reached forward to smack Pacifica on the arm in an effort to get her to turn around. It worked. “ _Oh sure_. Now you’re going to tell me that you’ve always loved me and were bullying me because you didn’t know how to deal with your feelings.” 

“ _FUCK NO,_ ” Pacifica spat, “There was totally a time when I _did not like you_ . _At all_. But I wouldn’t call it hate. You’ve always just...god I don’t know...intrigued me I guess? Sorry my sexuality was repressed, otherwise I would gladly spout out a declaration of my eternal love.” 

Mabel’s hands laid in a state of suspended animation, permanently thrown into a gesture of disbelief, “Get _over_ yourself, Pacifica. We **_get it_ ** **.** You love to play the sad intellectual. And I’m sorry you got kicked out of the house, I really am. But you need to move on, already. I’m getting a little tired of the return of little miss bitch-” That time, the words were cut off by Mabel herself as she immediately clamped her hands over her mouth, horrified by what she let escape from her mouth. 

Tears began filling both of their eyes. Air completely sucked from her lungs, Pacifica could only stare and gape. 

“Never, and I mean _ever_ ,” she paused, desperately trying to keep it together as her voice cracked beyond repair, “Call me a bitch.” In the blink of an eye, the blonde bolted from the room and stomped down the creaking stairs, not caring how disruptive her footsteps may be. 

She skidded into the kitchen, sobbing, heaving in air, and grasping desperately at her hair. Stan and Dipper, putting their game of gin rummy on hold, watched in terror as Pacifica Northwest teetered on the edge of a breakdown. 

Voice shot and barely able to speak more than one word at a time, “Where’s the axe? Where’s the pig?!” 

Springing to action, the two boys tripped over themselves in a futile attempt to defuse the situation. “Paz, I know you’re upset,” a withering glare shot Dipper’s way, “Ok more than upset. But you _cannot_ kill Waddles just to spite Mabel.” 

“What,” his statement threw her for a second, and the realization of the implication of her words furthered the blush on her sweating, tomato-esque face, “No, no no. I’m taking the pig with me in the woods. I’m going to chop some wood. I need to do something productive with this anger or would you rather I **_KILL YOUR SISTER_ ** **?!!** ” 

“...axe is in the shed, honey,” Stan muttered, avoiding her laser eyes as she thundered out the door. 

Hours later, Pacifica’s muscles ached. A pile of logs higher than her sat nearby. She was still wearing the clothes from last night, but they were soaked with sweat and clung to her body in an uncomfortable contour. She still swung, splitters of wood showering the mossy ground. The axe rubbed unforgivingly into the palm of her hand, and blisters swelled and grew with each hit. Sweat poured down her forehead, retracing the tear tracks that had since tried. No more tears tonight: only power. 

Pacifica Northwest was beyond pissed. She was past livid. Unbridled rage brewed within her lithe body, spilling forth into the wood with each swing of the weapon. An unbridled scream accompanied the symphony and cracked branches, with the sound becoming hoarser by the second. Pacifica’s throat burned. Her eyes and hands burned, and even as the sun began to dip below the horizon, still she persisted. 

The thing was, Mabel may not have had the purest of intentions nor the kindest tone, but on some level, she was right. Pacifica could play to her strengths as much as she wanted, but at the end of the day, she was a depressed little girl with no direction who was completely out of her element. 

Liquor and the satisfaction of a hard day’s work could only go so far. Pacifica had to find a way to let go, she just wasn’t ready. Whether she would ever be ready was yet to be seen, but the blonde doubted it. 

Another swing of the axe sent a chunk returning to sender, hitting the girl right below her right eye. Recoiling, she let herself fall into the soft earth, dropping the axe beside her. She clutched at her face, a dull throb coaxing a painful hiss out of her mouth. 

Pacifica groaned on the forest floor. Luckily, when she drew her hand away, they came back clean. No blood, but that piece of the earth would definitely leave a bruise. Her limbs screamed for relief. The blonde suddenly didn’t have enough energy to even lift a finger, so she acquiesced, falling back into the dirt, looking up at the star filled sky. 

Pegasus, Andromeda, Perseus; The constellations displayed their ballad across the heavens. Pacifica begged to be a hero. She begged to be a saint. How unlucky for her then, that she was born into a family of leeches. 

A salamander crawled across her arm. Waddles snuffled in a nearby babbling brook. 

At one point in her life, Pacifica fancied herself an Achilles. Now, the comparison felt all the more apt. 

The pig strode up to the girl, digging its snout lovingly into the palm of her hand, forcing her to pet its head. A weak smile snuck onto her face. A light in the darkness. Waddles could drag her out of purgatory. Pigs were incredibly intelligent creatures, after all. She tried once, twice, three times to heft herself into a sitting position, feeling around for the axe at her side. The night air grew cool, and that combined with the damp clothes caused Pacifica to shiver. 

She walked back towards the shack, axe in one hand, shoes in the other, electing to feel the moss underfoot uninhibited. Waddles followed close behind, obediently scanning the surroundings for any dangers that posed a threat to her companion. The shadows of Pacifica’s face deepened as the two friends passed by bioluminescent plants and trees. Their other-worldly blue glow acted as a spotlight into the hidden corners and alleyways of both the forest and the travelers within. 

The shack came into view and Pacifica’s arms and legs ached more at the prospect of a comfy bed. She set the axe on the porch with a soft thunk, opening the front door as gingerly as possible in an attempt to quell the squealing hinges. The clock on the wall said it was almost midnight. How quickly things changed, she thought. That same morning she awoke with a smile on her face and red marks on her neck as evidence of a night well spent. Now her hands throbbed in anger and exhaustion. 

The blonde padded around the bottom floor, glancing into the living room where the TV mumbled out an infomercial or late night telenovela. Mabel laid on the couch, borrowed pillow under her head and a scratchy blanket covering her form. Pacifica drew her lips into a thin line. Good, she thought. It feels good to not be the banished one this time. A bed to sprawl in waited for her upstairs. 

And sprawl she did, letting herself face-plant into the covers as Dipper watched in concern from his place on the other side of the room. 

“You wanna talk about it,” he asked, eyebrows knit together. The reading light in his lap shaded his face in a dramatic fashion. 

“No,” grunted Pacifica in response, muffled by the comforter. 

“Didn’t think so.” 

The small party held on the back lawn of the mystery shack the following afternoon was excruciating. The Pines family plus their friends and loved ones milled around the picnic tables and ate chips and dip while making casual conversation with the birthday boy and girl. Pacifica was in no mood to celebrate. It was strange for her, seeing as she lived at the Shack full time, she, along with Stan, were the hosts of the event. 

With each new arrival, the blonde’s forced welcomes and smiles grew no more natural. Her whole life she had floated on a cloud of perceived reservation, when in truth, Pacifica Northwest was just shy, as many only children were. 

Back when she had money, the cash and status spoke for her, but in most cases, small talk was high on the list of the girl’s least favorite things. Connection with others was difficult for her, and if it wasn’t for the twins forcibly wedging themselves into her life, she probably wouldn’t have been standing there at all. 

Running her hands over the rough wood of the bench, Pacifica looked out across the yard to where the Snack Shack was still set up. She and Stan had talked about it; the restaurant worked best as a seasonal institution, seeing as its general manager was starting her senior year in less than a week. They had done good business over the Summer, and Stan and Pacifica hoped that the anticipation built up over the year would only increase its popularity the following May. 

The Northwest girl adjusted the maroon cap on top of her head. After that day, it would once again just be her and Stan in the house. Hopefully Stan could weather the storm that was teenage girls full time. He didn’t really have a choice anymore. 

The time came to open presents, and Pacifica rushed to deposit her gifts in front of the siblings of honor, wanting to get the fanfare out of the way. Ripping open his gift, Dipper’s face lit up with genuine intrigue upon seeing ‘Gravity Falls: A History’. He immediately began flipping through the pages, stopping to laugh at the fact that the Northwests had an entire chapter devoted to them and their contributions to the town. To Pacifica, she felt the joke was more in how she was required to purchase it, despite being quoted in the book.

Pacifica turned to Mabel, who gingerly peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal the picture frame. A fond smile spread across her face as she leaned next to her to show it to her brother, whose expression soon matched. 

Mabel faced Pacifica, a look in her eyes, that the blonde could not exactly place. “Thank you, Paz. This is really beautiful work,” she said, her voice full of earnestness. 

“Yeah, thanks, Paz,” her brother cut in. 

Pacifica toes the ground, kicking up a tiny cloud of dirt, “You’re welcome. Happy birthday,” she said, quickly turning away and receding back into the crowd. 

Grenda stepped forward to present her own as well as Candy’s. The other girl was away at music camp, but unlike the first Summer, her friendship with the twins was strong enough that it was a non-issue. 

The twins eagerly tore at the gifts. More books for Dipper and boy band CD from Candy for Mabel. Finally, the brunette opened the gift from her girlfriend, who fidgeted with nerves as she looked on. A small box was revealed. Mabel picked up what was inside and held it up for all to see: a charm bracelet. Pacifica could tell it was sterling silver and probably fairly expensive; she had an eye for that kind of thing. Hanging from the chain sat three equally shiny charms: a pig, a heart, and a shooting star. 

The attendees oohed and ahhed at the jewelry as Mabel’s motioned Grenda into a bear hug, touched tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Pacifica’s face, on the other hand, was completely unamused. She should have let Grenda present her gifts first. Compared to a sterling silver charm bracelet, a photo in a frame looked like chump change. With a huff, the blonde snuck away and back into the house, needing some time alone. Soon enough, the bus would come and the twins would leave. She’d drag herself away for the big goodbye, but right then, Pacifica had some Summer reading to catch up on. 

At some point during Pacifica’s foray into The Bell Jar, the sky opened up and the shrieks of party goers sounded around the forest as they scrambled to get back into the safety of their cars as the water poured from above. The blonde opened the window, allowing the smell of rain to waft throughout the attic. 

Later, wrapping of knuckles shook the girl out of her reverie, “Enter,” she called. Stan stuck his head inside and beckoned her to follow. “Is it time,” Pacifica asked, already climbing off the bed. The older man nodded in response, tossing her a rain jacket. 

So there Pacifica stood, sharing an umbrella with Stan as a typhoon raged around them. Water dripped off the brim of her cap from where it was situated under the hood of the jacket. Her hands fiddled around with the lint in the pockets as she longed to return to the warmth of the covers. 

Instead, she had to watch Grenda suck the face off her girlfriend as everyone else, including the bus driver and fellow riders, watched in disgust. 

“Oh come on. She’s not going off to fucking war,” Pacifica muttered under her breath. Next to her, Stan shook with silent laughter, making drops fall off the umbrella in droves. 

Grenda and Mabel finally released each other with a wet pop and the twins carried on down the receiving line. Wendy, Soos, and Stan all said their respective goodbyes until Dipper and Mabel stood in front of the dripping blonde. 

Mabel moved to reach for her, but her brother was faster. Enveloping the girl in an all-encompassing embrace, Dipper and Pacifica held onto each other for dear life, disregarding the pain in the boy’s still healing arm. She took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of his shampoo and simply all the ‘Dipperness’ of him. How she longed to switch places with his sister. Leaving town with her best friend was a wild fantasy. They could start a life together, just the two of them, and Pacifica could leave all her troubles in Gravity Falls. 

Unfortunately, it was one such trouble who broke the spell with a clearing of her throat. The two friends released each other with a promise to text the second the boy touched down in Piedmont. Dipper stepped aside, and with pursed lips and tired eyes, Pacifica drew Mabel into a stiff hug, slapping her **hard** on the back once for good measure and her own fulfilment. 

The girl felt the brunette’s hot breathe on her ear, “One last chan-” 

“Don’t even go there,” Pacifica whispered back, releasing her ‘crush’ from the hug. Mabel stepped back, and taking Dipper’s hand in hers waved to the townies of Gravity Falls and got on the bus, gushing goodbyes all the way, the silver charm bracelet glinting on her wrist as she did so. 

The bus took off with a splash, though it went unnoticed due to the torrential onslaught coming down from the heavens. The group dispersed, everyone going their separate ways, until just Stan and Pacifica were left standing at the bus stop. A few moments passed and Pacifica’s eyes once more began welling with tears. She sniffled, but felt a strong arm wrap lovingly around her shoulders. 

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s go home.” 

Once back in the sanctuary that was the Mystery Shack’s kitchen, Pacifica and Stan sat next to one another at the table. The girl alternated between pickering at the tablecloth and running her hands manically through her soaking hair. 

“Do you want some coffee,” Stan asked, getting up to rummage around the kitchen. 

“Sure.” 

“Do you want me to Irish it up for you?” 

The socialite wrinkled her nose and breathed out a laugh, “No, cream and sugar is fine.” 

“Suit yourself. More for me then.” 

The coffee maker bubbled behind her, and soon enough, the two of them sipped their coffee together, comfortable silence hanging in the air. 

“You know I always drink after the kids leave,” the man admitted, taking a long pull off his mug.

Pacifica set hers down with a clink, “Why’s that?” 

Another long sip of his drink, “Because it makes me sad to see them go. I’m going to go cry about it later, but I don’t want you to see me like that.” 

“I wouldn’t judge you for that, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

The two of them made eye contact. Stan had the same expressive eyes that were obviously a Pines family classic. Pacifica found herself wondering, or maybe hoping, that someday Dipper would grow up to look like the man facing her now. 

More silence passed. The blonde could see the words bouncing around in the man’s brain. “What is it,” she asked, voice barely heard over the din outside. 

Stan reached out and rested his calloused hand over her smooth one, “I’m glad you’re sticking around, kid.” 

A blush rose on her cheeks. She hid a small smile behind the lip of her mug and took a long sip of the coffee. Milky and sweet: just the way she liked it. 

“Yeah, I think I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Act 1. 
> 
> Act 2 (affectionately nicknamed 'the long haul') commencing approximately September 5th.
> 
> I should say now that new chapters will be coming out less frequently, but not sporadically. I have everything planned out, so when I give a date for the next chapter, expect it on that day or within my usual 1-2 day grace period. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! Feel free to message me either here or on my tumblr. My asks are always open.


	11. Sturm und Drang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Begin act 2. Here's a somewhat shorter chapter, seeing as this is mostly just introductory to the second part of the story. Nonetheless, hope you like it. 
> 
> I was going back over one of the earlier chapters for fun (yes I read my own work. It's good writing) and I found a 'Grenada' I missed. Curse you google docs. 
> 
> Anyway here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=Pz5ESpqQQK2zu0aRZ-X1dQ
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and kudos! I love hearing from you guys.

Pacifica sure was giving Sufjan a workout.

“ **_SHOULD I TEAR MY HEART OUT NOW_ ** ,” she screamed along, the sound of the bouncing mandolin loud enough to shake dust off the rafters, “ **_EVERYTHING I FEEL RETURNS TO YOU SOMEHOW!!_ **” 

The door creaked open and Stan poked his head in to interrupt his ward’s offering to the god of strife, “Pacifica, sweetie, could you turn it down? The sad folk man is disturbing the customers.” 

“ **_FUCK THE CUSTOMERS!_ **” 

“...carry on then.” Stan recognized that everyone deserved their chance to fall apart. While it was unfortunate that Pacifica had to do it during business hours, there was no reasoning with the flailing girl. Maybe he could sell it as another oddity: a restless spirit haunting his attic and playing extremely depressing music. 

“ **_Blind faith, God’s Grace_ **,” she continued ‘singing’ punctuating each word with a bare-footed punt of her backpack. It was generous to say she was singing. The sounds coming out of her mouth were more akin to the screeching of a large bird than anything a human could normally produce. 

“Fuck Mabel,” she thought, “Fuck Mabel and fuck the knowledge _about_ Mabel that she now possessed.” How cruel of the other girl, to put her on the spot like that. How Pacifica found it in herself to deny the request was beyond her. Summoning all the strength of the ghosts of Northwests’ past, she had managed to rebuff the other girl’s advances. The only evidence that strength had existed at all was the pile of chopped wood that now lined one of the exterior walls of the Mystery Shack. She and Stan were set for the next year. Good. She had once heard of the therapeutic relief associated with writing down one’s feelings. She’d also heard legend of the cleansing powers of the flame. By that logic, the three-subject notebook she filled with all her grievances towards anything and everything plus a sizable fire should fix the girl’s life for good. Whether she actually wanted to part with the words was yet to be seen. It might be just a tiny bit more satisfying to hold onto them so she could read them to Mabel to her face. 

It was Tuesday; the next day would kick off the start of Pacifica’s senior year. Any well-adjusted high schooler would have used the days before the beginning of the year to get all their affairs in order. The blonde, arguably the poorest adjusted student in all of Oregon, spent it wailing on herself to the tune of indie folk. 

How she had found time to be the tiniest bit studious during the mother of a Summer she had just endured, was one of God’s great mysteries. Nonetheless, a well constructed, if not _uncomfortably_ personal essay on The Bell Jar sat neatly printed out in the backpack Pacifica was trying to kick through the wall. It would not surprise the girl if she soon was called into the counseling office due to the...unsettling emotion present in her writing. Write what you know, they say. And it just so happened that Pacifica Northwest knew about having a ‘difficult’, in a word, relationship with one’s mother. 

The blonde groaned, massaging her temples as she fell onto the soft mattress. While the days were no less chaotic, Pacifica appreciated the relative ‘cooling-down’ of the night, literally and figuratively. Mabel’s body no longer emanated warmth like a furnace onto Pacifica’s chest and the cool evening breeze from the open attic window now was a common denominator rather than a desperate attempt to regulate her body temperature. Similarly, though the current scene suggested otherwise, the twins’ absence was a cold shower to the constant fever pitch her nerves were at when they were around. 

The screaming and the worship of Sufjan Stevens were simply a final purge of her system; after Tuesday, Pacifica would return to her natural state: cool as a cucumber. 

Her thoughts drifted back to her mother, to both her parents, to the night of Woodstick when mother and daughter had a glancing encounter. It was strange. Pacifica always knew that after the death of her parents, that she would remain in Gravity Falls, steward of her ancestral land. Though she longed to get as far away as possible, the assumption for her to remain sedentary and her duty to her forefathers super-ceded any personal goals or ambitions the girl might have had. 

The amount of personal freedom she now possessed was nauseating. She could go anywhere, do anything (or anyone for that matter) and the only thing stopping her was the crushing reality that she had no money. Cruelty, at its most bitter. Pacifica cursed any god who would listen; It wasn’t like she had made a wish on a monkey’s paw or anything. Sure she had begged to be let out of captivity but not like this. 

Whatever. Mabel, in all her twisted wisdom, was right. Pacifica had to move on eventually. There was no use worrying about it anymore, seeing as the closest she’d ever get to her parents again was though quick glances and chance meetings. Occasions more appropriate for a forbidden lover than one’s _parents_. It would be strange, seeing them idly around town, but at least Pacifica could bask in the fact that she could finally spit in their wake without fear. It was the small things; she had to keep in mind the small things. 

Batting a hand at the bedside table, Pacifica caught hold of her camera. The music still thrummed, and she began to grow annoyed by it. It was penance though, and if her mind finally snapped from hearing the same song on repeat for two days at a volume that broke the sound barrier, maybe people would finally leave her alone. 

She cycled though all the pictures documenting the Summer. Many of them were of her, which was unusual, seeing as she was usually the photographer. The Pines’ household, however, considered itself a communist state in the way its inhabitants held little to no regard to personal ownership. As it was, everyone was always playing with her camera. It wasn’t like Pacifica could really complain, though it was difficult for her to see that the scar on her face was in fact there, and wasn’t simply a figment of her imagination. Her own personal evolution was intriguing to see. Though her physical appearance was...less than stellar in many of the photos, particularly the ones where she still sported bottle blonde hair, there was a noticeable difference in her posture as the summer wore on. In May and early June, Pacifica sat stiff in a chair, hands clench knuckle-white and the armrests and back ramrod-straight. As June melted into July and August, there were more photos of her sprawled on the couch, or hunched over in a kitchen chair, indicating that her body, however divorced from her mind, grew relaxed in the Mystery Shack. 

There was one photo in particular that caught her eye. Pacifica surmised that either Dipper or Soos had taken it on one of their late night in the shack. In it, Pacifica and Stan sat together at the kitchen table, pouring over the profit reports for the snack shack. Stan wore his fez while the girl wore its matching ball cap. Sated after a hard days work, the Pacifica in frame had a light sheen or sweat across her skin, but she glowed with the strength of someone who took pride in their work. A slight smirk graced her face, clearly pleased with how popular the restaurant was becoming. Stan in turn look thrilled at the evidence of strong profits, always pleased to here the cha-ching of a cash register. Pacifica looked tired, but at least she was rebuilding her dignity. 

A slight wind blew into the roof, fluttering tawny bangs in front of bright blue eyes. Pacifica furrowed her brow and set the camera back down on the nightstand. The song really was beginning to grate on her. 

The following morning, Pacifica woke up earlier than she had in nearly four months, the angry chime of her alarm going off at 7:30. She had an hour to get ready; Soon enough, her zombie-like ways would streamline the process, allowing the girl to be out the door five minutes after she woke up with five minutes to get to school. Still, it would take some getting used to, and the blonde padded down the stairs into the kitchen, eager to get her fix of caffeine. 

Stan sat at the kitchen table, sipping a mug. He gestured to the still bubbling pot at the arrival of his roommate. Her own mug, as well as the milk and sugar were already set out next to the pot. She prepared the coffee to her standards and downed it in one go, the heat shocking her system awake more than the caffeine ever could. Mouth tired and words gummy, “Good morning,” she mumbled out. 

“Morning. You ready for your first day of school? I don’t know how you could be. You had that same song playing all night.” 

Pacifica wheezed out a humorless laugh, “I’m trying to put myself on edge. That way, if I look certifiable, no one will want to approach me.” 

Stan snorted, causing the newspaper he was reading to flutter, “The ole’ McGucket method, huh? Well, best of luck to you.” 

Pacifica didn’t bother responding. She just grabbed a banana and trudged back up to the attic, stumbling on nearly every step. 

Soon enough, the girl was staring at her reflection, adjusting her hair and blouse while drawing a most-delicate line of eyeliner on her upper lid. She blinked once, twice, then finally exhaled to examine her work: Acceptable. Pacifica did one last assessment of her stuff and the room. Satisfied, she grabbed her backpack and camera bag and burst outside into the early morning air. Dew licked at her feet as she walked up to the beemer, throwing her bags on its back seat. It was a gamble, driving the car to school, but it was the one her parking pass was registered with, and she was under no circumstances taking the bus. 

The Italian leather seats were smooth against her back. Taking the AUX cord, Pacifica queued up...The Only Thing by Sufjan Stevens, allowing the lilting mandolin to drag her further down into ire. 

By the time she pulled up to Gravity Falls High School, the blonde dreamed of ripping the neck off Sufjan’s instrument. Taking a long steeling breath, she took the first step out of the car, the sole of her sneakers making satisfying contact with the concrete. Just as they had when she returned for finals the previous May, people immediately stopped and stared, quickly turning away and muttering to their posse as Pacifica’s sunglassed gaze drew close enough to them to bite. 

Just as she expected: gossip hounds, the lot of them. Each step was one foot further into no man’s land, and Pacifica felt her shoulders slowly raising up to meet her hoop earrings. The thing was, thought she expected the whispers, it wasn’t clear to the girl what exactly they were talking about. Her getting kicked out was stale, so it definitely wasn’t that. Was it about how she went home with that girl after the hoedown? Maybe? There wasn’t really any other news… 

She continued her trek inside, flashing her ID to the security guard. People milled about the commons, talking about Summer Camps and repeated classes. A gruff, “Candy, she’s here,” was heard over to her left, and Pacifica turned to greet her friend.

“Hey Candy! How was music cam-” Her question was cut off by a sharp slap which sent her sunglasses clattering onto the tiled floor. 

All the air was suddenly sucked out of Pacifica’s lungs, and into Candy’s, who yelled, “I saw what you did. How _dare_ you kiss him?! You know I have a crush on Dipper!” 

“Wha? Candy, no it wasn’t like that-” 

“Don’t interrupt me,” the other girl said, effectively rooting Pacifica to her spot, “I should have known I couldn’t trust you. You haven’t changed at all. I bet you’re not even gay, you attention whore.” 

Now that statement spurred Pacifica to action, “Wait just a minute! I just said it wasn’t like that! Yes, Dipper and I kissed, but we immediately decided never to do that again because it was like, kissing a sibling,” Candy opened her mouth to retort, but the blonde steamrolled over her, the fury of a thousand mandolins fueling her quickly growing rage, “How dare _you_ come and accuse me, come and _slap_ me, without letting me get a word in otherwise. I can’t believe you’d think I’m faking being gay! You think I wanted to get kicked out of the fucking house? You think I wanted that? You know what? Maybe it would have been better if I had stayed in the closet, because then I wouldn’t have to be having this conversation with the likes of you.” 

“Hey what’s that supposed to mean-” 

“It means you’re a sniveling _bitch_ , Candy. I thought we were friends, but apparently you’re just like everyone else. I’m trying to move past my past, but on top of the rollercoaster of a weekend I just had,” she knew she was rambling, but it felt good to release everything off her chest, “ **_Followed by two days of non-stop annoyance at my own hand, I am at the edge Candy, and now you come up all cavalier like_ ** ,” she began in a mocking tone, “ **‘** **_Ooo I’m Candy and I can talk to anyone how I want because people like me. Pacifica bad. Candy good._ ** **’** **_Well you know what? Right now I don’t really care for you, so get the FUCK out of my face_ **.” Her tirade finally over, Pacifica stood in the silent hallway, heaving in air and enduring the shocked stares of her peers. Candy’s eyes flickered around the room for a moment, but soon filled with tears as she fled into the comforting arms of Grenda, whose face shown bright with anger. The blonde was immediately filled with shame, so in a flurry, she picked up her sunglasses and sped off to her first class, which luckily for her, happened to be yearbook committee. 

Now at least the masses had a valid reason to gossip about her.

Pacifica flew into the classroom in a huff, touching down at one of the desks towards the back of the room. Her classmates and the teacher slowly filtered in, but the blonde paid them no mind. Her thoughts were consumed by the fight that had just gone down in the hallway. Sure she felt bad for flying off the handle, but it was just bad luck on Candy’s part for catching her at the end of her rope. Besides, the other girl had no right to talk to her like that, especially on matters that she did not understand. 

The bell rang, stirring Pacifica from her trance. She scanned the room, looking for any new faces. Many people she recognized from years past, but a few brunette girls looked unfamiliar, as well as a shorter boy with tall blonde hair who sat at the front of the room. “Teacher’s pet,” she sneered to herself, “I’m sure people are going to _looove_ him.” 

“Alright class, welcome to the first day. Let’s start with roll,” said the familiar teacher. Pacifica reminisced about her first time stepping into the yearbook room. Little did she know, that it would soon become a home away from home. The room fed her burgeoning love for photography, and at times, her teacher felt more like a father than the actual man she was related too. She sure did receive more recognition here than back at Northwest Manor. 

It was only three years ago that she began her journey in this room, but it felt like so much longer. Long nights slaving away over the computers, choosing between pictures whose only differences were the minutest change in angles. Hours of color grading and cropping led to the blonde becoming a Photoshop virtuoso. 

Pacifica Northwest felt nurtured by academia in general. Sure, there were classes she didn’t like; she was after all more artistically minded than scientific, but where most kids loathed the monotony of going to school everyday, Pacifica saw learning as a source of power. The pen was mightier than the sword, and empires had fallen for less than a strongly worded paragraph. 

“Now, let’s talk about mentorship,” said the teacher. Pacifica rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. This was one aspect of senior year she was not looking forward to. In the yearbook department, it was the procedure for a senior and a freshman to be paired up into a mentorship program. The teacher could only do so much, and having one of the senior to guide the underclassmen was a valuable resource. It sure _seemed_ valuable when Pacifica had been paired up with a god of a photographer her freshman year, but now that the mentee became the mentor, the girl’s lone-wolfness made its appearance. 

“And Pacifica,” she perked up at the mention of her name, “I’ve paired you with Gideon Gleeful.” 

Hearing those six little words caused the senior’s vision to tunnel as the head at the front of the room whipped around to look at her, apparently as appalled as she was. 

“Great! Now freshman, pair up with your mentors to get to know them. Sophomores and Juniors...just do...something...I don’t care what,” said the teacher, waving them off as he sat down behind his desk and took a sip off a water bottle. 

Pacifica did not move. A chair screeched next to her, and she could feel the boy’s eyes boring into the side of her head. 

“Sooo...mentor,” began a voice with a southern twang, “Let’s get to know each other.” Pacifica slowly turned to face him, running her tongue over her teeth with a withering glare placed upon her face. 

“Gideon.” 

“That’s right. It’s lil’ ole’ me.” His dimples mocked her. She too had dimples. Why were his praised so much? They were nothing special. 

The vein in her neck throbbed, “I didn’t realize you had an interest in photography.” 

“I didn’t realize you thought you knew everything about me.” 

The girl pinched her nose and scrunched up her brow, “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t know anything about you at all.”

“That’s the price of fame I suppose, I’m sure you understand,” he replied, sick pleasure dripping from his voice. 

“So. What do you want to know about me?”

“Is it true you got kicked out because you kissed a girl at a party? Is it also true that you kissed Dipper Pines at the hoedown last week eventhough you knew Candy had a crush on him?” 

“I thought you were psychic.”

“You know that was a scam.”

Pacifica let out a long sigh, body deflating like a balloon, “Both of those things are true. Question for you. Do you still have a sick obsession with Mabel Pines.” 

“No.” 

“Good for you,” she replied, “At least that makes one of us. Lemme see your camera.” The boy handed it over into Pacifica’s waiting hands. She gingerly poked at it, examining each component with the utmost care. It was a nice camera; it was similar enough to the ones she used, so she would be able to easily mentor him on how to use it.

She wasn’t sure why exactly the teacher paired them up together. It was entirely possible that it was random. As far as matches go, although she couldn’t stand Gideon Gleeful, she could _understand_ Gideon Gleeful. Both of them came from extreme fame before having a very public fall from grace. The difference was that Gideon had had years of experience in mingling with the common folk. She hoped some of that experience could rub off onto her. Yes, it seemed, this would be a mutually beneficial partnership. 

The rest of her morning went smoothly, from her environmental chemistry class to AP German. Her mother had cringed when Pacifica had selected German. It was ‘entirely undignified’, Priscilla had said. Her mother begged her to reconsider and choose French or Italian, but the blonde didn’t budge. She enjoyed the harshness of German, the was it spat itself out of her lips in yelps and grunts. Between that and photography, Pacifica’s old life didn’t really afford her much autonomy, so she had to get it where she could. If that meant yelling ‘schmetterling’ for an hour five days a week, so be it. At least she was having fun. 

Lunch rolled around, and Pacifica quickly realized that she had nothing to eat. Like the bus, cafeteria food was not an option. For her entire educational career, artisanal lunches had been packed for her by her family’s expansive staff. Sushi, edible gold, and waygu beef were among the things normally found in her lunch box. Sadly, fine dining was just not meant to be. But as she rummaged in her bag for a stray bag of chips, her hand rested on an unexpected brown paper bag. 

She pulled it out, and on its crumpled surface was Stan’s scrawling handwriting. 

‘Hope you have a good first day, sweetie. Knock em’ dead. -Stan’. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but the rumbling of her stomach won out and she quickly tore open the bag, but not before taking a picture of the message to save forever in her memories. The meal inside was modest, but Pacifica could live with that: A bacon sandwich, an apple, and a bag of chipackers. The girl thought back to one of her first nights at the shack, all those months ago. Bacon sandwiches were quickly becoming one of her favorite foods. She wolfed it down, taking note of how earnest the food tasted. This lunch had been made with more love than any that came before it. Hopefully it would become a regular thing. 

Pacifica briefly picked up her head from where it was buried in her sandwich, catching the eye of Candy, who was entering the cafeteria with Grenda and an entourage of other students. The eye contact was intense, and was finally cut off when Candy snapped her head away, instead choosing to focus on a joke one of her friends was in the middle of telling. 

Pacifica wanted to be one of those friends. Well, Candy shouldn’t have come at her like that, otherwise, the two of them could be sitting together right now. Candy just shouldn’t have talked to her like that. 

The rest of the day passed mostly without incident, save for a fight between two sophomore boys in the science wing that Pacifica wasn’t fortunate enough to see, but was shared on Snapchat across the world within an hour. It looked intense. The blonde was jealous of the person recording the video. 

Arriving back at her car, she peeled out of the parking space and immediately played the waiting game in the bottleneck that was the Gravity Falls High School parking lot. For the first time in three days, Pacifica chose to keep the radio off, choosing to listen to the ambient sounds around her. Friends gossiped about the first that went down earlier that day. People yelled and honked at each other’s cars. Birds flew by overhead, their songs creating a pleasant soundtrack to the fall afternoon. Soon enough, all the birds would fly south for the winter. Pacifica would have to find something else to quell the constant ringing in her ears. 

What felt like hours later, she finally pulled up onto the lawn of the Mystery Shack, careful to park the car out back away from the prying eyes of the police. Her status with them was uncertain. Technically, she was committing a crime, just not the one they were trying to pin on her. She was harboring plenty of stolen goods, including enough gold to make Fort Knox blush. Hopefully the inquisition would blow over soon. Pacifica had enough people breathing down her neck as is. 

“Hey,” she said, passing a group of tourists milling about outside the Mystery Shack. She pushed open the door and made her way up to the office, hoping to find Stan. The man was sat inside at the desk, looking over his expense reports for the previous month. Pacifica knocked lightly on the open door frame, “Thanks for lunch,” she said, a warm smile on her lips. 

“Huh? Oh,” Stan started, “Y-you’re welcome. Just don’t expect it to become an everyday thing. You need to learn to fend for yourself.” 

“Sure, sure,” the blonde laughed, swinging off the frame and back upstairs to the attic. 

It felt nice to have someone looking out for her, even if that someone happened to be Gravity Falls’ most notorious hustler. 

Later that night, once she had completed all her school work, Pacifica laid on her stomach on the bed, situating the webcam of her laptop so that her face was in frame. A couple seconds passed, then a beep of affirmation sounded and a familiar face appeared on screen. 

“Hey! How was your first day,” Dipper asked, face lighting up at the sight of his friend. 

“It was- it was good. Weird. You know how I mentioned to you that in yearbook, senior get paired up with freshman to mentor them?”

“Yeah?”

“You won’t believe who I got.”

A suspicious look crossed the brunette’s face, “Who....?”

“Gideon.”

“You’re shitting me.” 

“God as my witness,” Pacifica replied, crossing her heart and hoping to die. 

“Damn. That sounds...super bad.” 

“Haha yeah,” the girl replied weakly, picking at the fabric of the comforter. 

The suspicious look returned, “Paz...what aren’t you telling me?”

She truly could not hide anything from this boy, “Candy and I may have had a fight.” 

“I know that.” 

“ _Wha- then why did you ask_?” 

“Well,” Dipper began, scratching at the side of his face, “Candy told Mabel told me. I just wanted to hear you admit it.” 

“That’s entrapment.” 

The boy sighed, “Paz, you need to apologize.” 

Pacifica crossed her arms in defiance, “It’s not my fault Candy wanted to speculate on things she didn’t understand.” 

“Paz…come on. You can’t just blow up at people like that.” 

The blonde sucked her teeth, bowing her head, “Dipper, my nerves are fried. Just cut me some slack please.” 

Dipper shifted, momentarily forgetting they were separated by hundreds of miles as he reached forward in an attempt to soothe her, “How about this. You don’t have to apologize immediately, but don’t leave this hanging forever. I know you want to be friends with Candy.” 

“Well...she should apologize to me too.” 

The boy shrugged, “Maybe so, but you shouldn’t wait for that to happen.” 

Pacifica scrubbed at her face with her hands, sighing, “I hate when you go all holier-than-thou on me. It doesn’t matter if you’re right, just the way you say it-”

“So you admit I’m right,” he interjected, smirking in an attempt to break the tension. 

Pacifica dropped her hands, letting the tension break, “I guess so you goober.” 

“Good. Let’s talk about something else. You haven’t even asked about _my_ day…” 

Later that night, Pacifica sat awake with the crickets, going over the days events in her mind. Curse Dipper for being more of a mind reader than Gideon could ever dream of. Pacifica didn’t like being told what to do, but she knew he was right. She wasn’t going to let it go immediately, not caring that the feelings of guilt pooled in the pit of her stomach like some kind of toxic personality trait stew. Pacifica had an abundance of patience, and it was only fair that she a lot some of that wealth to herself. 

Air escaped the blonde’s throat as she threw her arms over her head. The affairs of the heart were not her strong suit. Photography was her realm: Golf and photography. It wasn’t until recently that she found herself tangled up in other people, but it was too late to stop. If anything, she had tried to stop it, but Mabel just wouldn’t listen. 

Mabel. 

Pacifica hadn’t even seen or asked after the girl when she Facetimed Dipper, not that she wanted to. She was afraid that the sight of the other girl’s face would once again send her into a fit of sobbing rage, and after three days of nothing but that, it was time to give it a rest. 

Still, even after everything the girl put her through, her name and face still stuck in Pacifica’s teeth, even as the edges of her vision blackened. Pulling the blanket further up her chin, Pacifica allowed the memory of brunette locks tickling her neck invade her mind, pulling her down into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming around September 18th, so be on the lookout for that.
> 
> Again, hope you enjoyed, and don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos!
> 
> BTW I feel like I owe the_glare_you_see for predicting the events of this chapter like, a month ago.


	12. Albatross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late. I am just so tired.
> 
> Here's a note about this. Where I am from, girl's golf is a Fall sport. It wasn't until recently that I learned this is not the case in other places. In Oregon, girl's golf is a Spring sport. Since I planned out this chapter before I knew that, for our purposes, girl's golf happens in the fall. Minutia, I know. 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob  
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=UHjTPNiaQCGY759gmRmrdA
> 
> Hit me up with kudos and comments, you know I love those.

The little beep boop that signaled a successful connection never failed to put a smile on the blonde’s face. Seconds later, the familiar lop-sided grin of her best friend appeared, dark brown curls falling gracelessly into his eyes. 

“You need a haircut, my guy.”

Dipper smirked, “Hello to you too, Pacifica.”

She countered with a wry smile, “Hello Dipper. How are you? You need a haircut.”

“Really? I’m thinking of growing it out.”

Scrunching up her face, “Nooo...I don’t think so,” Pacifica said. She shifted into laying down on her stomach, body sinking further into the plush comforter, “So what have you been up to?”

The boy took a moment to think. “You want to hear something dumb,” he finally settles on. An intriguing prospect indeed. 

“Of course.” 

“My friends here don’t think you’re a real person.”

“Wha-what?” 

Dipper laughed at his friend’s taken-aback expression, “You know, like a whole ‘my girlfriend goes to another school’ type deal?” 

Her bewilderment only increased, “But we’re not even dating?” 

“That’s actually part of it. I show them pictures of you and they’re all like ‘How could you not hit that?’ and ‘You’re giving us guys a bad name’.” He threw up his hands in defeat, “So they think that because you’re a gorgeous woman that I know and are completely platonic friends with, that you must be made-up because only a fool wouldn’t want to date you.” 

What a strange prospect. “I mean, that’s almost flattering, in a completely misogynistic way. Why are you friends with these people?”

“Us nerds gotta stick together.” 

“You strike me as more of the ‘geek’ variety,” Pacifica mused, shifting onto her stomach and leaning her chin on a balled fist. 

“We don’t have to get into the minutia of it.”

The two friends continued their light conversation. Dipper told her about his classes, and Pacifica ranted about how much she loathed being forced to spend time with Gideon. One topic hung in the air between them, but neither teen dared bring it up: Candy. 

The issue had still...not been resolved. A full week and a half had passed since Pacifica had blown up at the other girl in full view of the entire student body. The blonde still refused to pluck up the courage and swallow down the pride that required her to make such a move, but that wasn’t to say she didn’t think about it. She thought about it constantly. Every time their eyes met during the passing period, or if Candy and crew walked into the cafeteria, the vice grip of guilt tightened ever tighter around Pacifica’s heart, as well as her windpipe evidently. Each time she opened her mouth to speak, the sound escaped her and all that came out was a pathetic squeak, causing those around her to nervously look around for the non-existent rodent. 

Pacifica was fine. Everything was fine. Sure the sadness of losing the only true friend she managed to make in her hometown due to the error of her own ways was slowly eating away at her insides, but other than that, things were great! She had a safe place to call home, after all, and she could make other friends. There was Gideon! He got on her nerves, but she _was_ his ‘mentor’ after all. Pacifica could attempt to mold the boy into any shape she chose, be it waxing philosopher or suburban warlord. All she wanted was for him to be less of an asshole, and if he was her only option for friendship, she would will it so. 

Her phone pinged next to her within the folds of the many blankets. Then it pinged again. And again. And when Pacifica finally managed to fish it out, her phone had been blown up by the devil in question. Briefly scanning over the messages, it seemed the boy had a million questions about the basics of shot composition, which, in fairness, Pacifica _was_ the local savant when it came to that kind of thing. 

“Who is it,” Dipper asked, shaking the girl from her reading. 

She turned back to him, wry smile in place, “Harry Houdini himself-”

“Ah Gideon.”

“Indeed. Sorry Dip, I gotta take this.”

The brunette placed a melodramatic hand to his forehead in mock offense, “You’d leave me for that-that **_FRAUD_ **?” 

“Normally I wouldn’t dare, but you don’t know enough about the foundations of visual arts to keep my interest.” 

“ _And he does_?” 

She winked, face morphing into one of determination, “When I’m through with him, Gideon Gleeful will be the next Ansel Adams.”

“I...don’t know who that it-”

Her phone continued to go off as Gideon flooded her inbox with more and more of his stream of consciousness, “Oh my god look it up. Now I really gotta go. Bye, love you.” She cut off Dipper’s response with the soft click on her closing computer screen, turning her attention back to the phone to angrily punch in Gideon’s phone number. 

The line barely got out a fraction of a ring before it was replaced with the high pitched yammerings of a madman. He was asking about...apertures? Light balance? She couldn’t really make out what he was saying. 

Pacifica let out a long sigh, resigning to the fact that this would take up most of her evening, “Alright Gideon. What the fuck do you want?”

Later that night, after a torturous hours long phone call, Pacifica sat on the floor of the living room, diligently polishing her golf clubs, being careful not to get any polish on the ornate rug. 

Familiar feet entered the room as she lovingly caressed the five iron. “I’m surprised you know how to do that, or have you finally snapped and are actually wiping off the blood of your first kill,” Stan said, shock evident in his voice.

“Do what?”

“Polish your own clubs.”

The girl scrunched up her face but didn’t look away from the club in hand, now switched to the driver, “Why is that surprising?” 

Pacifica could hear him hum and haw, the indelicate man choosing the most delicate words he had at his disposal, “I just would have assumed...that at your parents’ tax bracket-”

“What, you think because I grew up rich, that I would have servants do everything for me?” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

Pacifica couldn’t help but laugh. At least he was honest, “There’s a quiet dignity to caring for one’s own set of golf clubs. It’s the little things.” 

“Huh.” 

“What you should actually be surprised by is the fact that I caddy my own gear,” the blonde continued, looking up just in time to see Stan’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“What about that guy Sergei…” 

Pacifica waved the comment off, “Please. After that night at the course, I was nearly traumatized off mini-golf forever. Besides. My clubs can’t be tampered with if I’m the one carrying them.” 

Stan nodded sagely, understanding her apprehension well. Dangers lurked around every corner, and for Pacifica, every other golfer would kill to be in her position. Maybe even kill her. 

The man tapped his slippered foot, searching for a topic of conversation as he plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. Pacifica continued to furiously wipe away the near-invisible dust on her three wood. 

“Sooo,” Stan started, “The big game is tomorrow, right?” 

“It’s called a tournament, but yes. The Cedar Brush Township Victory Night Invitational _is_ tomorrow. It’s the first tournament of the season. An easy win, but still. Gotta come out of the gate **_strong_ **.” 

“Cedar Brush, eh? Never did like those yuppies,” the older man muttered, “Are you nervous?” 

Pacifica barked out a laugh, “Of course not. I’m not even going to break a sweat...and I’m going to look good doing it. Which reminds me, did you get what I asked for? My khakis aren’t going to starch themselves.” 

“Yeah I got it.”

The girl gave a resolute nod, and the two of them drifted into comfortable silence, the only sounds being the television. 

“Do you want me to come watch you golf tomorrow?” 

“W-what,” coughed out the blonde, startled. The canister of polish slipped out of her hands and she hissed in fear that some would stain the carpet. It didn’t, but she quickly snatched it back up before it could, “No...you don’t have to do that. It won’t be very exciting for you anyway. Just a bunch of people playing golf.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not just one of ‘a bunch of people’.” 

A blush creeped up the golfer’s neck. Her parents had never bothered to watch a tournament. On some level, she couldn’t blame them. Golf was incredibly dry to watch, and they had much more important matters to attend to. That didn’t stop the jealousy that rose in Pacifica’s throat like bile every time she heard the polite cheers from her teammate’s parents and loved ones. 

It was lonely on top; Better she not have any distractions, though. 

“You...really don’t have to come.”

“But-” 

“Really. It’s fine.” 

“Pacifica, I want to be there to support you,” Stan replied, his voice softening. 

Emotion stuck itself thick to her tongue. Seeing as the man just would not let it go, she might as well cut him a deal, “I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow’s tournament really isn’t a big deal. Truly. If you really want to come watch, you should go later in the season. Remind me, and I’ll give you my schedule, so you can come to state or something. That’s where the glory is.” 

“I’ll be there.” A resolute statement. He would be there: for her. 

The thought clung to Pacifica’s brain as she went to bed nice and early, just one facet of her pre-golf ritual. Stan would be there for her. Stan _is_ there for her currently. He wouldn’t have opened his house up to her if he wasn’t. He wouldn’t say good morning or pack her snacks or buy her starch if he wasn’t. 

She couldn’t help but draw comparisons to her own father. Of her parents, Pacifica had always felt the ‘closest’ to her dad. It wasn’t a closeness, though, as much as their relationship was not contentious 100% of the time, as it was with her mother. Sure, Preston Northwest hit his daughter frequently, but he’d also take her to the mudflap factory whenever she asked. So maybe it was a net neutral. 

Pacifica snorted at the ridiculousness of her own mind. It wasn’t fair to Stan to compare the two men. Sure, Stanley Pines had not even a fraction of the wealth Preston did, but somehow he managed to display more warmth towards her in four months than her parents had in 17 years. 

Blood ran thick and noxious in the Northwest clan. Pacifica was tired of it streaming rent free through her veins. 

The following day at school was the same as the rest. Between Gideon’s annoying musings and Candy’s utmost avoidance of her, the only way Pacifica could even tell a day had passed was that the stiff collar of her emerald green golf polo was making her neck itch. In any other situation, the shirt would have been a dire faux pas. But as she dressed that morning, she couldn’t help but lovingly caress the embroidered GFGG embossed on the right side. She pledged her allegiance to Gravity Falls Girl’s Golf, and she was ready to continue her reign as the crown jewel of the high school’s athletic program. 

Senior year meant scouting, and scouting forced the existential dread of college into the girl’s mind. It wasn’t that she was nervous to go to college per se, the issue lied more in how her familial ousting changed her purpose for higher education. 

Before, her future was locked in stone. She’d go to an Ivy League, major in business, meet a nice, filthy rich boy, procreate and prosper and eventually inherit Northwest Mudflaps, securing her ancestral line for at least another generation. 

Now, all those obligations were gone, and the prospect of freedom was both exhilarating and daunting. Pacifica could study anything she wanted, but what did she want to study? 

The bell signaling the end of class saved her from falling any further into that rabbit hole. Good. AP Econ was boring as hell, no matter how important it claimed to be. Her chair scraping against the ground, the socialite was quickly swept up into the sea of students, carrying her away to the sports equipment room to pick up her clubs before the team set out to leave. 

Once Pacifica exited the room, bag in hand, the usually busy hallways quickly had become vacant with students’ desperation to leave school. The girl was grateful to be able to navigate said halls without being bumped and jostled. 

She met up with the rest of the golf team, and as they walked out towards the exit, the yelling of a voice became more and more pronounced. Pacifica groaned. She knew that voice. Breaking off from the rest of the group, she rounded a corner to see Gideon screaming at another student, just going off on some guy who was pressed against the wall in an effort to put as much distance between himself and Gideon as possible. 

“- _and how_ **_dare_ ** _you imply that my hair is bleached. You think I can get such volume and texture with chemicals-_ ” Pacifica cut him off suddenly by grabbing and yanking the collar of his western shirt, the younger boy struggling in her iron-clad grasp. 

“Unhand me!” 

“No,” she yelled back. She turned her attention to the still shocked other boy and waved him off, turning Gideon to face her. 

Faces inches apart, Pacifica seethed with annoyance, “You can’t just wail on people like that.” 

The boy looked ready to spit in her face, “You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my mother.” 

The girl’s grip tightened, “From what I hear, you don’t listen to her either. Don’t attack people like that.”

A sly smirk appeared on the freshman's face, “What, like you murdered Candy Chiu in this very hallway?” 

_That_ comment threw her off balance, and Gideon was finally able to wriggle free of her grip. 

“Pacifica, come on, we have to get going,” one of her teammates called. 

She quickly glanced between the exit and Gideon, who was looking at her with a self-satisfied expectancy. “Just...do as I say not as I do.” And with that she turned on her heel and rushed off to meet back up with her team, leaving a smirking Gideon in her wake. 

Pacifica spent the bus ride to Cedar Brush by herself, the way she preferred. All her teammates talked and joked with each other, but their captain took the time for self-reflection and to listen to her patented ‘golf-hype playlist’. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Gideon brought up her fight with Candy; the whole school knew about it, after all. All he did was rub salt in the wound, pointing out all the ways that Pacifica was a hypocrite and hadn’t changed a bit. Well, Gideon hadn’t changed much either. So there. Glass houses. 

The bag of clubs rattled with every bump in the road. Someone tapped Pacifica on the shoulder, prompting her to take out one of her earbuds and see who. The girl’s name escaped her. All the blonde knew about her was that she was not terrible at golf. 

“What’s up,” Pacifica asked. 

“Well, seeing as you're our captain and all, and it’s the first tournament of the season, do you have any words of motivation you’d like to say? We’re almost there.”

“Oh...uh,” the captain contemplated it. “I don’t really think I have anything. Ummm..good luck out there guys! We’ll do great!” So she wasn’t the most motivating captain ever. It’s not like she was selected for her speech-writing abilities...

“How inspiring,” her interrupter muttered, sinking back into the seat behind. 

Soon enough, the team was walking off the bus fields of manicured grass. The sound of various clubs connecting with balls filled the air, making Pacifica’s gloved hands twitch with excitement. It was a gorgeous day on the links, and the girls adjusted their visors further down over their eyes. It was time to get started. 

After check in, they girls assembled in their carts, Pacifica riding in the back seat of one of them. They drove to the first hole, and the captain noticed that it seemed that the driver was pulling their cart purposefully to the right, causing the blonde to make contact with every piece of foliage that lined that road. 

The first hole: a straight across par-3. Pacifica was up first, and she gingerly touched every club, mulling over her options before finally selecting the three wood. Yes, she thought to herself as she made note of the wind’s speed and direction, the driver would be too powerful for a job like this. 

She took up the stance, the crowd holding her back as she made the backswing. With the power of a thousand Tiger Woods’, Pacifica made satisfying contact with the golf ball, sending it flying straight and true down the center of the fairway. One bounce, two, and with a third bounce the ball came to rest nicely on the green. A little further away from the hole than she would have liked, but she would have no trouble sinking it on the second stroke with her superb putting game. 

And when she did indeed sink it on the second stroke, the crowd and her teammates erupted into polite golf claps, with some quiet wolf whistles coming from the people in the back. 

The rest of the 18 holes went as well as expected. Pacifica avoided the sand and water traps like the pro she was, and her teammates did pretty well too. They all deserved their fair share of polite applause, though once more the blonde noticed something strange. 

All her teammates cheered louder for the others than they did her. Maybe it was the lifetime of unquestionable success, but she expected at least a clap on the back. All the other golfers received whoops and hollers of joy, but all Pacifica was allotted was the bare minimum of sportsmanship. 

No matter. Pacifica Elise Northwest was the best golfer around, and she didn’t need the approval of others to reaffirm that fact. 

Later that night, as they rode back to the bus, trophies in tow, the blonde was once again driven into trees and bushes. 

“Great job you guys,” she said over the chatter, trying to assert her dominance as the leader of the team. 

“Yeah whatever,” one of them mumbled, not even looking up from her phone. 

“Alright, what’s going on? I’m your captain, I deserve your respect.” 

The driver jerked the wheel, throwing leaves into the debutante’s mouth, “Pacifica, what is my name,” she asked. 

Shit. 

“Uhh...it’s...um...fuck.” 

“Yeah, that’s what we mean. You don’t care about anyone else but yourself. Don’t you think people would be nicer to you if you actually bothered to learn their names?” 

Pacifica struggled for a response, “I do _to_ care about my fellow man…,” this time she grasped for a name, “...Stephanie.” 

“My name’s Megan…” 

Fuck. 

The rest of the ride back was awkward, with Pacifica taking her floral flaying with no further complaint. Why hadn’t she learned their names? Why didn’t she bother to learn anyone’s name? Thinking back to the night of the hoe down, she couldn’t even place the name of the girl she lost her virginity to, much less the teammates that she only interacted with to talk about and play golf with. 

What did it say about her that her closest friends lived miles away from Gravity Falls? Pacifica held a certain disdain for her hometown’s population. She had always seen them as simple-minded, but the last months had shed some light on the problem with that line of thinking. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but the village in question seemed to want very little, if anything to do with her. 

She thought the creation of the snack shack had built up some good will between her and the townies, but not that it was closed for the season, she was now Pacifica Northwest, she who must be avoided like the plague. 

Maybe that’s why she connected so deeply to Stan. Neither of them asked to be castaways. 

Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as she exited the bus and trudged over to where the beemer sat in the school parking lot. A large glob of bird poop was splattered on the hood, a reminder that even Mother Nature seemed to have a bone to pick with her. The clubs thunked from where she threw them onto the back seat. At least she had done what she had set out to do that day. Gravity Falls high had a fantastic showing at the season’s first tournament, and the blonde hoped they could keep their momentum building. 

If only she could get her teammates to actually like her. 

Later that night, after Stan sang his profuse praise over the night’s success, Pacifica changed into some pyjamas and poured over German conjugations. Begging for a distraction, it came in the form for a FaceTime request on her laptop. She rushed to accept, but hesitated after realizing who was calling: Mabel.

Steeling herself, the blonde accepted, reasoning that whatever emotional anguish she had in store was better than German verbs. With a click, Mabel’s face appeared on screen, round and cheerful as ever. 

“Hey, Paz.” 

“Hey, Mabes, what’s up?”

The brunette picked at her nails, “Oh not much. Stan told us about your golf win, so I just wanted to say congrats. So...congrats!”

Pacifica chuckled, “Thanks. It was a hard fought battle, but we managed to come out on top.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Mabel bantered back, raising an eyebrow. 

“So how are you?” 

The smile vanished from Mabel’s face, and she glanced at the blonde with eyes that betrayed an annoyance Pacifica wasn’t expecting. “I’m alright. School’s good. Grenda and I have been fighting more.” 

Oh _course_ they are. Sighing, “Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” Pacifica said, not even attempting to hide her lack of empathy.

“Riiight,” the other girl said, tone turning stiff, “It’s just like...I don’t know I feel like the distance just _really_ isn’t working this time.” 

“Mabel, I really think **_Grenda_ **is the person you need to talk to about th-”

“I don’t **_want_** to talk to Grenda about it. All she’ll do is whine and apologize and promise to visit me as soon as possible, and you know what? As much as I think the distance is killing us, I don’t particularly want to see her either.” 

The blonde’s blood pressure slowly rose with each word, “Then break up with her already.” 

Mabel crossed her arms. Pacifica thought is made her look more like a petulant child than someone who was navigating the ins and outs of interpersonal relations. 

The brunette ground her teeth, “But I really like Grenda. I just feel like sometimes she can be stifling.” 

“Then talk to her about it.” 

“But then she’ll just try to stifle me by apologizing and promising to not stifle me anymore, but she won’t do that because she doesn't know how!” 

“ **_ALRIGHT ENOUGH._ **Mabel, I’m going to say this as kindly as possible. I do not want to hear about this. Talk to Dipper or something. Fuck, talk to your mom.”

“Oh, so you don’t care about my feelings?”

The vein popped out of Pacifica’s neck and she ran her sweaty hands over her beet-red face, “Is that what I said? I’m almost certain that’s not what I said.” 

“It’s what you implied.” 

**_CLICK_ **

The seething blonde shoved her now closed laptop far away from her, fearing it would explode with Mabel's fury at being hung up on, though, she wouldn’t mind poking the bear a bit more, if only for her own pleasure and preservation of sanity. 

Whipping out her phone, she shot a quick text off to Mabel. ‘I’m done with you for the night’ it read, and before she could be besieged with the flood of angry texts that would inevitably come, Pacifica turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ and looked forward to reading the angry tirade in the morning. Right now, Pacifica had German homework to get back to. 

“Ow, fuck, Wendy, that hurts,” Pacifica hissed a few days later, laying face down on the kitchen table as the redhead jabbed a needle into her shoulder. 

“It’s a tattoo idiot, now shut up I’m almost done.” 

The younger girl wasn’t really sure what compelled her to once call upon Wendy’s expertise. Well, Pacifica actually _did_ know, but was afraid to give a name to it. The combination of the satisfyingly painful sting of the needle, coupled with the fact that the end result was a piece of wearable art was turning her into a tattoo junkie. 

Minutes later, the two girls walked upstairs to the full length mirror in the attic bedroom for Pacifica to get a better look at her new tat. Staring back at her was the constellation Pisces, the one she had been born under. She absentmindedly reached for it, but was quickly slapped away by a scolding Wendy Corduroy. 

“You know the rules, blondie. Keep your paws off as much as possible. It’s delicate.” 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” the redhead replied with a smirk on her face, “I do good work.” 

“Indeed,” Pacifica said offhandedly, still mesmerized by the lines and dots of fresh ink in her alabaster skin. It was official; Pacifica Elise Northwest was into tattoos. Her mind already began to race through options and placement for her next piece of art. 

It was pretty obvious why she chose Pisces. Pacifica always appreciated the actual timing of her birthday, winter being her favorite season. It was cool and blunt, like her, with an honesty in presentation that the girl appreciated. 

Lying on the flannel covers of the bed, Pacifica winced at the pain coming from her shoulder. She longed for the Oregon snow. She longed for the big chill. 

The girl thought about Pisces and the fish. She thought about the hallways at school, where everyone was a salmon swimming against the current. All nameless, faceless fish in her book, but each other of them had an intricate inner life. 

Pacifica groaned. She should never have taken that philosophical literature class the year before. It forced her to actually _think_ about things, and it was a bad habit she just couldn’t seem to kick. 

“Hell is other people,” she thought to herself, “but I can’t continue on like this.” 

Pacifica already had enough homework as it stood, so why would she self impose more. She thought back to the last day of junior year, and the note that the unknown girl had written in her yearbook. 

Scrubbing her face with her hands, Pacifica came to a realization. She truly was all talk. She could go on and on all day about how she was the most popular girl in school, but at the end of the day, her peers wanted her to lead by example, and all she could bust out were some vague lines about doing your best. 

“I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight anyway,” she muttered, the sting in her shoulder reminding her of its presence. 

With a determined resoluteness, Pacifica pulled out any yearbook she had, slammed it on the desk, and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect the next chapter in the next week and a half to two weeks. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


	13. Pin-Up Boys and Adonis Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain: Write the next chapter!  
> My heart: NO I MUST WRITE DOWN VAGUE NOTES FOR A POSSIBLE FOLLOW UP TO THIS THAT WOULDN'T EVEN HAPPEN FOR ANOTHER YEAR
> 
> This was written in a Neil Cicierega fueled haze. Enjoy the writings of my frenzied brain!
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure I have some readers who are not from the US. If you have any confusion about homecoming, I am ready and willing to answer them. 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Here's the companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=_jAuOZZrQlCDzlwOYRrDow
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos, maybe even shoot me a message on Tumblr. Enjoy, you cool cats and kittens :)

Her AP European History teacher just went on and on about the increased popularity in religious mysticism during and following the black plague, and usually Pacifica was pretty ok at taking notes. 

Now, however, the only things wafting about in her mind were luxurious yearnings for caviar. She couldn’t help it; this was the period right before lunch. Pacifica didn’t even _like_ caviar, and to say as much was more evidence to one’s social standing than being a fan or the stuff. Caviar to the average person was such a luxury that one seldom if ever tries, and for Pacifica to have had it enough times to decide that she didn’t care for it...well...there might be something to be said for the wealthy being extremely wasteful.

“Just have some capers,” the Greek chorus muttered, “They’re briny enough.” 

Pacifica massaged her temples, “You think I can get capers in a town like Gravity Falls?” 

“Well, you had capers before. Where’d they come from,” continued the voice in her head. 

A hiss under her breath, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Whatever girl,” the voice said, wavering her off, “Eat a pickle then.” 

Someone next to Pacifica poked her in the side, asking for a pencil and snapping her out of the debate she was having with her internal monologue. She handed one over, but not without a judgmental look. The period was five minutes from being over and they just now decided it might be prudent to take notes? Not that Pacifica was one to speak; she looked down at the notebook in front of her: blank aside from a quickly scrawled ‘caviar’ on the very first line.

The girl let her head loll and rest on her opposite hand. The back of Grenda’s head came into view, a row up and to Pacifica’s right, causing her brow to furrow. 

Before any mind-readers accused her of being a bully (well...an even bigger one at least), Pacifica wanted to get it out of the way that she did not think the other girl was downright stupid. It was just that...well Grenda was kind of...comparatively she...in Pacifica’s mind, Grenda’s intellect was not...the highest she had ever seen. 

The brunette didn’t strike the academic as someone who would choose to take an AP class. 

But, hey. Grenda was charming in an aggressive sort of way, and at least people never thought she was hiding something, which was only one of many reasons why people avoided Pacifica. Grenda just didn’t seem very erudite, is all the blonde was saying. 

Pacifica’s forehead itched again. She reached up to scratch it and was reminded of the cause of the irritation in the first place. A champion’s laurel crown placed atop her dirty blonde tresses. It was homecoming week, more specifically Tuesday, even _more_ specifically toga Tuesday for the seniors. She did her waiting, three years of it, to be able to walk to halls clad in a bedsheet and some leaves in her hair. The itching was payment enough for her to relish the feeling of becoming Aphrodite, love in the flesh, walking the halls of Gravity Falls high. 

Pacifica Elise Northwest was a little bit of a Narcissus, and Hades be damned she was going to show off. 

The lecture at hand picked up again, “and to review, the main way the black plague spread was by fleas carried by-” He paused, holding his hands out for a response. A room of 30 seniors droned ‘rats’ in bored unison, much to the teacher’s pleasure, “Very good. Now your homewo-” The bell cut him off, and said seniors scrambled to put away their notebooks and pencils. “The bell doesn't dismiss you! I do!” The teacher screamed to no avail. It was time to go, and the fluttering of a whole room of toga filled the air. Pacifica needed to find something salty, and fast. 

Outside, enjoying the cooling October air, Pacifica sat at a table munching on a bag of the saltiest chips the cafeteria had to offer. Not her first choice, as the girl’s soul nearly was sucked out of her body at the sight of the person in front of her in line at the vending machines brought the last remaining bagged pickle. It would have to do, but potato chips were no caviar.

These strange upper-crust cravings had been coming more frequently of late. Maybe it was her body’s last cry for help from all the peasantry she’d been shoving into it. From caviar to wagyu beef to edible gold, Pacifica suddenly had a taste for the expensive. To be honest, she hoped she’d never lose her taste in the sophisticated, but in her own hierarchy of needs, Prada ranked higher than quail eggs. _Way_ higher. 

The honeycomb pattern of the table was uncomfortable to sit on, and the girl traced around it as she crunched another chip. To her it felt like someone got their finger stuck in one of these tables at least once a month, and the humor of it wore off a while ago. 

“Hey! You,” someone yelled in her direction, and Pacifica whipped her head around to see an underclassman speed-walking towards her, yellow slip in hand. Knowing what was coming, she feigned ignorance and jabbed a pointer finger into her chest as if to say ‘you talkin to me?’. 

“Yes, you,” the kid yelled again. They were dressed in leg warmers and a color-block windbreaker: typical 80’s, the spirit day theme for sophomores. How dare this pleb scream at her like this? 

“You know, for being the most popular girl in school, you can be pretty elusive when you want to be,” sophomore said, panting. They shoved the slip of paper in her hands and turned away, throwing, “The good doctor is looking for you,” over their shoulder. 

Pacifica scoffed, but turned the notice around in her hands, unhappy with being served the Gravity Falls High School equivalent to jury duty. She was being summoned by the career counselor, a meeting she had been putting off for the better part of her entire high school career. It seemed that the bounty hunters decided it was finally time for her to serve her civic duty of making a decision about her future at the deathly old age of 17. 

Their meeting was scheduled for eighth period, the last in the day which also happened to be the girl’s open study hall. The lines of disgust deepened at this revelation. This was punishment, and a huge inconvenience, as she usually just used the time to leave an hour before everyone else, beating the school parking lot bottleneck that always inevitably occurred. With her recent luck, she was bound to get into a low-speed twenty car pile up that afternoon. 

An alarm on her phone beeped, signaling the quickly approaching end of her lunch. She stood, brushed the crumbs from her pearly white toga, and sucked the salt from her fingers, watching the wind rustle the trees and pick off loose leaves to travel along with it. 

She wiped her hands on the bed sheet, immediately making her cringe. She had spent so long the night before trying to rid the thing of the scent of old dust that sat on every item within the Mystery Shack, and here she was dirtying it up again. What would her mother say?

Nothing. Priscilla would say no coherent words, just scream at her until the ringing in Pacifica’s ears formed a minor third with the clanging of the bell. Whatever. 

The end of the school day came too quickly for Pacifica’s taste, and she once again adjusted the wreath on her head. The leaves had tangled in her hair, making the crown look more like a rat’s nest. 

The girl sat in the waiting room area of the counselors’ office. The loud clack of the secretary’s typing did nothing to soothe the headache Pacifica had been sporting since May. 

When she thought about it, the senior wasn’t really sure what had caused her to continue to push back the meeting of wits that was about to occur. She and the career counselor were just going to talk about Pacifica’s interests, what sectors the girl might be interested in working in. She had no real answers to any of those questions, but it would be easy enough to lie her way through it. The real problem was a lot cagier than she would ever admit. It was well known that Pacifica Northwest played every card close to her chest, and let barely anyone alive know anything emotionally significant about her. 

The good doctor was about to try and pry, and that just didn’t sit right with her. 

A student came sobbing out of the glass walled office of the man she was about to see. The glass is what really unsettled her. Wasn’t time with a counselor supposed to be private? She didn’t want to waste time thinking about it. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could go home. 

The door remained open, beckoning her in, and Pacifica dragged her greek-sandaled feet through the threshold and thumped down on the red plush couch across the room from a large wooden desk. She slouched deeper into the fabric, coming eye-level with the doctor’s name plate: Dr. Greg Blumahngrup, the day’s judge, jury, and executioner. 

“It’s good to see you, Ms. Northwest,” the man in front of her said. His voice reminded her of the people on NPR, soothing and bass-heavy, “Or, I suppose it would be more appropriate to say nice to meet you.” Her eyes drifted up, meeting the doctor’s gaze. The bright blue she found there threw her off. It was not unlike her own, and Pacifica did not like that. 

She crossed her arms, rubbing the bare skin. It was ominously cold in there. 

“So...why did you call me here?” 

The man cocked his head to the side, getting a good look at the girl in front of him. Those eyes were unreadable, but Pacifica could feel that he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. 

“Well,” Blumahngrup started, “I’m just going to ask you some routine questions. First of all, how are you?”

The blonde swallowed, “I’m fine.” 

He nodded, jotting something down on a pad of paper that Pacifica really wanted to snatch right off the desk and read for herself. “Good, good. I’m glad, considering...well, everything?” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

His pen stopped, and the girl noticed a very familiar smudge of ink on the side of the man’s hand. His _left_ hand. Nope, didn’t like that either. 

The good doctor once more leveled her with his x-ray gaze, “Ms. Northwest, your home life is no secret.” 

“I-uh.” The goddess Aphrodite suddenly found herself divinely grasping for words. 

“Well, maybe it’s not _super_ evident, but it wasn’t hard to find out what was going on.” 

“H-how…” 

A slight smile appeared on the man’s face, “Well, you missed like, a week of school at the end of last year, and who calls you out? Not your parents, but the one and only Stan Pines. One can surmise a lot from that information. And then when you _do_ finally come back to school, it’s with a huge gash in your cheek. Plus, any mail we sent to your parent’s house came back here until the address was eventually changed to that of the Mystery Sha-” 

“ _STOP_ ,” she finally gasped out, “Just stop. I thought I was here to spit out vague statements about my college plans.” 

Blumahngrup steepled his fingers, leaning forward in his leather desk chair, his sky blue eyes filled with pity for the trembling girl before him, “You know, Pacifica. I’m not just a career counselor. If you ever just want to talk my door is open.” 

Pacifica didn’t answer, just responded with a look of pure contempt. 

“Are you safe, Paz? Can I call you, Paz? I know some people do.” 

“Absolutely fucking not.” 

He held up his hands in surrender, “Ok, sorry. Are you safe, _Pacifica_?” 

“Enough.” 

“Oh, no we’re not done here-” 

“I meant I’m safe _enough_.” 

Some more scribbles, “That’s fine for now, I guess. Would you like to move on?” A nod from across the table. “Ok. So you’ve been at this school for over three years now, and have not met with the counseling office once, which leads me to believe that you have no plans for your future.” 

Pacifica picked at the hem of her toga, “Is there a question in there?”

A newton’s cradle sat on his desk. Blumahngrup toyed with it and the balls began swinging and clicking into one another. Pacifica’s eyes flicked back and forth like she was watching the world’s most dull tennis match. 

“What is your dream job?” 

“Bimbo.” 

She heard him blow a stiff, annoyed breath out his nose, causing a tiny self-satisfied smirk to form on her face. “You are on the staff of both the newspaper as well as the yearbook, correct?” 

The smirk grew, “Correct. I’m the best photographer this side of the rockies.” 

“Right. I’ve seen your work. It’s very good.”

“Thanks.” 

The good doctor reached forward to stop the clicking of the cradle, “Have you ever considered a career in photography?”

“What,” the blonde blurted out, a fuse blowing in her brain. 

“Have you ever considered a career in photography?” 

Her eyes blitzed around the room, searching for answers in the lines of dust flying out of the ventilation system. God the school was old. According to local folklore, it was so old that they didn’t have different systems for heating and cooling to begin with. When it was cold, warm air was pushed through the vents. But when it was hot out, somewhere deep within the bowels of the duct work, a large fan blew air over a large vat of ice. Pacifica wanted to find that ice and evaporate it. 

“Um, no,” she replied, voice wavering and head shrinking down into the folds of her toga. The laurel shifted, further entwining itself with hair. “I couldn’t do something like that.” 

“Well why not?” 

“It’s um...it’s j-just not very practical is it,” Pacifica said, nervous laugh trailing the end of her words, “Not to mention the monetary aspect-”

Blumahngrup cut her off, “You shouldn’t completely count something out just because you might not make a lot of money. I have a doctorate. You think I counsel high schoolers because the pay is good?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never had to worry about that before, have I.” 

The man pushed his glasses further up his nose, stopping to scratch his nose on the way, “I suppose not, no. But my point still stands. You should do things because you want to, not because you think it’s the best choice practically.”

The blonde took a sharp inhale into her nose, the cord in her neck close to snapping, “Look, doctor. I know you mean well...but I just don’t think that’s something I’m going to pursue.” 

A second passed between them, two sets of blue eyes searching each other for a crack in the ice. Nothing. He wrapped his knuckles on the desk and rifled around for a piece of paper, eventually finding it and placing it in front of the girl. On it was a chart with many topics listed, such as ‘sciences’ and ‘fine arts’, with possible professions listed under each one. “I just want you to pick one of these. Nothing is set in stone, I’d just like to have something in my notes. After that I’ll let you go, but I _will_ be following up with you at some point.” 

Her eyes scanned the page, trying very hard to look at anything other than the fine arts section. It just wasn’t in the cards for her. One could always have hobbies, after all. 

“Business,” she decided, pushing the page back across the desk. 

“Business it is. Hope you have a nice day,” the doctor responded, motioning for her to leave. Pacifica got out of there as fast as she could, choosing to ignore the tinge of disappointment in her choice that tinged the man’s voice. 

The next morning Pacifica sat in her newspaper meeting, dressed to the nines in suspenders and a thick pair of glasses, pocket protector displayed prominently in the patterned button up she sported for ‘nerd day’. Spirit week: Hell yeah. 

Being Gravity Falls High’s resident Annie Leibovitz required the girl to sit on the staff for both the yearbook _and_ newspaper. If asked, she would refuse to choose between her two children. With a gun pressed to her head, however, she’d answer the yearbook, no question. There was something about reporters that she just didn’t like...maybe not reporters in general, but in her eyes there was just this feeling. They were the theater kids of the English department, and many of them _were_ theater kids proper too.

But, someone had to photograph the football games, so her number was called more often than not. Most of the time the events did double duty for the yearbook as well anyway. 

“So we’ve got Jeremy Phillips locked down to do next week’s senior feature,” their staff advisor asked the class. 

“Yep! We’re all set,” the always-too-peppy student editor shouted, causing Pacifica to flinch in annoyance. 

“Awesome, so Pacifica you-”

“Take his picture, yes I know,” she drawled, eyes following the too-slowly ticking second hand on the clock overhead. 

“You know Pacifica,” the editor said, voice snippy, “With an attitude like that, you’ll never get a senior feature.” 

The blonde pursed her lips and ignored her, choosing to whisper, “And why the _fuck_ would I want that,” under her breathe instead. And why would she? Everyone knew the senior features were basically just crowdsourced propaganda about the school. Each week they picked a graduating senior who would sing the praises of all the great things about Gravity Falls High School and how accommodating and competent the staff were, gushing about all the magical memories they made at prom or at the basketball games or of buying weed in the bathroom near the field house. Go Centaurs! Yeah, fuck that. 

“Anyway, on to our next point. The homecoming game is this Friday, obviously. Who’s covering it?” 

“I’ll go,” one of the usual sports reporters chimed in. 

“Great, Pacifica, are you working the game?” 

“Yeah, I am. Gideon’s coming with me,” Pacifica said, spitting out the kids name more than she meant too. It was a force of habit. “It’ll be his first ‘real’ assignment or something.” 

The teacher smiled, “Oh, you got yourself a little sidekick, huh?” 

The girl let the silence after his comment fall like a ton of bricks. “Yeah…” 

“Are you doing the dance too?” 

“No.” 

A surprised look crossed the teacher’s face, “Oh. That’s surprising. It’s one of the biggest events of the year. Plus I know you get first pick...” 

Pacifica really wished he hadn’t brought that last bit up. Photography assignments were given out by the staff advisors, and again, if asked, she would deny, but it was an open secret that the teachers gave Pacifica the pick of the lot. She got to choose when she worked, or more importantly when she _didn’t_ . It’s true. She _was_ given the chance to work homecoming. Apprehensive, “You know there’s other people on the photography staff, right? They’re just as competent as me.”

“Right, sorry,” the teacher backtracked, “Should we move on?” 

So two nights later, the cold October wind blew into Pacifica’s bundled up face as she ran around the edges of the football field, the crowd screaming and Gideon hot on her heels. Their team, wisps of steam rolling off their green and white uniforms, were losing...badly. Fortunately for them, the school was used to it. 

“Sooo, how have you been,” Gideon asked, wheezing as he caught up to her during a time-out. 

Pacifica, despite being cold, felt no fatigue whatsoever. There she was, jogging the field and dodging people and water coolers like some kind of frantically photo snapping gazelle. 

“I’m doing all right. Earlier this week I-hold on.” The crowd began a chant, and the girl whirled around to catch a shot of them doing the wave. Tonight, they brought the spirit, sporting the homecoming theme with pride, despite the weather. It was a generic 50’s night, but girls in poodle skirts and boys in leather jackets and pompadours stuck out against the paltry visiting stands. Cedar Brush, those yuppies. They might dominate on the field, but no one beat Gravity Falls when it came to pure pride. 

Even the pep band was in on the act. Usually blasting out bad arrangements of top 40, a few Buddy Holly classics were thrown in for good measure. Not to mention the commentator was doing his best impression of an old-time newsreel announcer, though the only news was that the centaurs fumbled yet another pass. 

“So are you going to an-,” the click of her shutter interrupted the boy, “hey, Pac-,” another click, “God you’re impossible to ta-,” click click click. 

She finally lowered her camera, satisfied that the twenty near-identical shots of the crowd were going to be enough...for now. “Sorry what were you saying?” 

“Well, you were going to tell me how your week was, but you’re so in the zone, it’s impossible to get a word in.” Pacifica chuckled and looked down at her apprentice. Years ago, after Armageddon, he had pledged to be as normal a boy as possible for someone like Gideon Gleeful. Part of that was relaxing his wardrobe to better fit the times. Tonight, however, was a special occasion, and he sure had done it up right. How the powder blue suit still fit him was beyond her, but with his white-blonde hair coiffed just so, she figured it was better just not to ask. Pacifica herself had mostly abstained from the theme, choosing instead to prioritize warmth and functionality. Some might say that her kitten heel boots weren’t practical, but that was amateur hour speak. 

Pacifica Elise Northwest mastered running in stilettos at seven and never looked back. 

Their quarterback threw the ball; she tracked it with her camera to its thrilling conclusion...on the ground. Not ever a fumble that time. “My week. Right. I was saying that the counseling office finally tracked me down.” 

“Oh you had a meeting with Blumahngrup? I had one like a month ago. Told him I’m going into advertising,” Gideon said, beaming. 

“Advertising huh? How appropriate. He said I should go into photography.” 

The boy fiddled with his lens cap, “Right, of course. What else did you talk about?” 

“I told him I’m going to study business.” 

“Wha-,” he gasped, mouth open in shock, “You’re joking, right?”

Pacifica shook her head and shot another picture off at the hip, “Nope. I need to be sensible.”

“Pacifica Northwest you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” 

“ **_Excuse me_ **,” she said, rounding on the offending freshman. 

Gideon furrowed his brow, “You’re an idiot. You’re going to do something you hate, just because you might recoup a little bit of your lost fortune? Put that shit behind you! Go after your dreams! At this point, they aren’t even your dreams. Photography is your damn destiny! I know these things, you know.” 

“Gide-” 

“No, don't _Gideon_ your way out of this! I’ve been chasing after you all night because you can’t stay still for more than two seconds. Even now, you’ve got an itchy trigger finger.” Pacifica hid her hands behind her back, but didn’t interrupt. “You’re in your element when you have a camera in hand. It’s honestly incredible to watch.” 

She kicked at the turf, “Thank you, but I just can’t.” 

The boy gave her a hard look, but didn’t press further, “So, are you going to the dance tomorrow,” he settled on instead, “I know someone else is photographing it.” 

“I’m not going, no.” 

“Seriously? It’s your senior year homecoming. I’ve seen like five people try to ask you out. Signs and everything.” 

The blonde shrugged, “I’m just not feelin’ it. I don’t really have anyone to go with.” 

“Like I said, I _saw_ all those suitors with my own eyes-” 

That finally got a smile out of the girl, “They were all very sweet, except the guy I caught about to key the question into the side of my car. _That_ was a close call. I turned them all down. I’m just going to have a night in.” Someone crossed her vision carrying a comically large bag of fries, “Speaking of which, _BEN! HEY, OVER HERE! YES YOU!_ ” 

A boy dressed like James Dean sauntered up to the pair, rebel jacket and all, with blonde hair effortlessly pushed back. His outfit looked expensive, seeing as reproductions of the iconic scarlet jacket cost a pretty penny, but if anyone could afford it, it was the school’s resident drug dealer. 

“Paz, don’t draw attention to me. I gotta keep a low profile.” 

She looked him up and down, “I won’t even comment on that. Tell me what you got.” 

“Alright, let’s see. I got some Memphis Belle, Platinum Jack, Yoda OG, got some edibles if you’re into that.” 

“You got any Trainwreck,” Pacifica asked, ignoring Gideon gaping behind her. 

The boy known as Ben smirked, “You know I do.” 

“Gimme an eighth.” 

He rifled around in his pockets, “Hell yeah. Now usually that would be, like, 40 a gram, but right now I’m running a homecoming special, so let’s do 30 for the whole thing. I could knock an extra couple bucks off if ya give me a kiss.” He puckered up, but was met with the lips of Alexander Hamilton as Pacifica shoved the cash in his face. 

“In your dreams, Benjamin.” The weed was handed over. She couldn’t help but laugh as he winked over his shoulder as he retreated back into the sea of the student section. 

“So _that_ is your big homecoming plan,” Gideon said, exasperated at witnessing his first ever drug deal. 

“Yup,” the senior responded, gingerly hiding the baggie deep within the recesses of her camera bag. The football whizzed past again, but this time was successfully caught. Pacifica sprung into action, watching wide-eyed as the wide-receiver made a mad dash down the field, jumping over Cedar Brush’s players like hurdles. Past the 50. The 40. The 30. The 20. The 10, the girl’s camera following him the whole way. 

And, in one final leap, right into the end zone, immediately causing a riot in the stands. The pep band erupted into an excited rendition of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”. Wrong decade, but they were completely drowned out by the screaming crowd. People went buckwild, yelling and throwing food all over the stadium. And there Pacifica was, standing on the sidelines, capturing it all on film.

Saturday evening, Pacifica lugged a blanket, a boombox, and her laptop out on the lawn of the Mystery Shack, setting up shop in the soft grass. 

She took out the weed and some rolling papers, crafting the perfect joint as she queued up FaceTime on the computer. 

The familiar face of her best friend swan on screen, “Hey, you got...the stuff,” Dipper said, nerves evident in his voice. 

“What, the weed? The marijuana? The good kush? Mary Jane? Astroturf,” Pacifica replied, making fun of his inexperience, “Yeah I got it. Do you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Light it up then,” she said, flicking the lighter and falling back against the blanket. She took a deep drag off the joint, “We gotta do this again the next time you’re in town.”

She heard him suck in a breath, then cough, causing her once again to laugh. “Oh, yeah. Totally this is great,” Dipper wheezed, “So I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t want to go to the dance.” 

“Been there, done that. Not my scene. Plus,” she rolled over onto her stomach, getting a better look at Dipper’s still convulsing form, “I have no one to go with.” 

“You know, that could have been remedied weeks ago-” 

She held up her hand, “Just...don’t go there.” 

Dipper rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. Northwest pride and all that shit. Can I ask you something that’s always kind of struck me as weird about you?” 

“I-uh ok?” 

The boy sucked another pull off the weed, “Why do you go to the public school? I thought you people were all about sending your kids away for school.” 

The girl took a drag off her own joint, “Ha! Let’s talk about this! Here’s my theory. It’s Northwest pride and all that shit, as you said. I think somewhere, deep down really deep in the deepest depths of my parents' minds, they know that outside of Gravity Falls, they aren’t really any hot shit. So I go to the public school because if I went to the private school, I’d be just a small Tiffany encrusted fish in a school of Chanel sharks. In public school, I am the special one.” 

“That’s the most self-absorbed and backwards thinking-” 

“Also it’s easier to keep an eye on me if I’m close.” 

The brunette coughed, smoke poured out his nostrils, “Now _that’s_ peak Northwest.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them, with Pacifica flipping once again onto her back to look up at the stars. 

“Did your sister go to the dance?” 

She heard her friend scoff, but he answered despite his annoyance, “Yeah, Grenda drove down to go with her. She’s staying for the weekend.” 

Pacifica gaped in response, “Are you serious? That’s like a 10 hour drive.” 

“I know. Now I have to watch them suck faces in my own home. I’m not safe anywhere,” he joked.

The blonde knew this line of questioning was dreading dangerous water, but the weed was starting to take effect and the uncrossable lines in her mind began to blur, “What...uh...what do your parents think of Grenda?” 

Apparently Dipper’s own lines blurred as well, because he didn’t even try to chastise her for asking, “Ya know? I think my parents think they’re a weird match, mom especially. I mean, they are a weird match. But like, Mabel still never tells me shit, so I have no idea what their deal is. Occasionally I’ll catch Mabel talk to mom about it, but it’s never anything too interesting.” 

“Huh...I’d like to meet your parents sometime…” Her words were beginning to slur together. 

“I’m sure they’d like you. I mean, they probably think I’m deeply in love with you, by how much I talk about you. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad threw me out if he heard the name ‘Pacifica’ one more time.” 

The two companions giggled, and silence once again followed, interrupted only by more laughter and the chirping of crickets. 

“Hey, you’re outside, right,” Dipper asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Look up.” 

“I’m looking. It’s a clear night, there’s a lot of stars out.” Pacifica traced all the constellations in her mind, wondering how people from so long ago created such an intricate mythology with the twinkling balls of light millions of miles away. 

“Lucky you. San Fran throws a lot of light pollution, but look straight up. You see that really bright star right at the top of the sky?” 

“I see it. It’s really twinkly,” she said, humor creeping into her voice once again.

“That’s Polaris, the north star. You can see it from anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere. Isn’t it crazy that you and I, more than 600 miles away can look up and see the same sky?” 

Maybe it was the weed, but Pacifica was tearing up a little bit, staring at the blinking light in the sky, knowing Dipper, her best friend in the world, was looking up at the very same thing. 

Dipper’s voice too was thick with emotion as he said, “No matter where you are, I’m always with you. No matter what.” The sentiment nearly made her break down completely. 

“I love you so much,” the girl managed to choke out. 

“I love you too, you’re my best friend in the whole universe.” Dipper let the words hang before continuing, all the knowledge within his brain seemingly discovering a way out, “Can I tell you about some other stars?” 

“Do it. You won’t.” 

“I will!” Pacifica heard him take another drag and she followed suit. “Now if you look to your right you’ll see Libra…” 

So he droned on and on, going into deep lore that would have alienated the casual listener within one word. But Pacifica wasn’t just some _casual listener_ , she was the boy’s biggest fan. And he was hers. 

So there they sat, doing nothing but saying everything, all under the same stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that, as always, I love to hear from you so let me know what you thought. 
> 
> Next chapter coming around October 20th, so be on the lookout for that.


	14. Mysticism in the Mundane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's got work in 5 hours? This girl! 
> 
> Anyway here it is, I don't have a whole lot to say because I'm tired. Bing bang boom dinner is served enjoy.
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=vgWIrlwCSoyDEl_1VOAKJg
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos and comments, love to hear from y'all :)

It was the Thursday before the third Friday in October, meaning the students of Gravity Falls were anticipating the approaching long weekend. Since its founding, the town had allocated that Friday through Monday as a celebration of the mighty mole: mother nature’s drill. What it was about that specific October weekend that made the insectivore worship necessary was lost to the sands of time. Pacifica didn’t care; she was just happy to get the time off school. 

Always the academic, she elected to finish her homework ahead of time in order to fully appreciate the coming luxury. However, halfway through her statistics questions came a rapping on her chamber door.

“Enter.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Pacifica spotted the head of Stan Pines, still clad in his signature Mr. Mystery eye-patch. She beckoned him further into her lair. The rubber soles of his shoes spurred the flooring into its usual eruption of creaks and groans. 

“So…,” the man began, dwindling his thumbs, “Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

The blonde twirled her pencil between her fingers, frowning at the silvery stain on the heel of her hand, a tell-tale sign of left-handedness. The desk chair spun until the two were facing each other, “I could ask you the same thing. Aren’t there customers lost and confused without their spirit guide to the supernatural?” 

Stan snorted with a smirk, “I’ve locked people in the gift shop before, and I’ll do it again.” Pacifica raised her eyebrows but said nothing, not doubting the man for a second. 

He continued, “I was actually wondering if you had any plans for this weekend, what with it being Mole Day weekend and everything.” Pacifica couldn’t help but laugh. Her only friends lived a state away. There was no one blowing up her phone...well besides Gideon, who seemingly couldn’t click a shutter without doing it wrong...but that was all business. 

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

Stan backtracked in desperation, “No wait! Not in a mean way...I just know that you don’t have a _whole_ lot going on right now...is all I’m saying...in the nicest way possible. I mean look at _me_! This whole town hates me!” 

“That is true,” Pacifica said, “what did you have in mind for this weekend?” 

The man kicked at the dusty floor with the toes of his worn out shoes, “I just thought...maybe you would be interested in spending some time with your Grunkle Stan. Just a road trip or something, nothin’ fancy.” 

Pacifica gaped and pointed an accusatory finger back into her chest, “You want to go on a trip. With _me_.”

“I mean, yeah. I noticed how refreshed you always look after coming back from having a walk in the wood with Waddles, so I just thought some time away from this place would do some good. You can bring the pig, although I admit it will make finding a motel more difficult…”

 _Oh_ . Well then. For all the traveling she had done, Pacifica Northwest had never been somewhere where you could get by car. Her parents had always said that America was good for one thing: business, and if someone wanted to absorb _real_ culture, then they had to go abroad. There was nothing worth seeing in the USA, so said Preston and Priscilla. So Pacifica had seen Milan and Paris and Amsterdam and Tokyo and Istanbul and every other place her parents deemed ‘worthy’. The timing of it was all unfair, though. A twelve year old can’t very well comprehend the grandeur of standing at the foot of the Parthenon.

Not to even mention the fact that it was hard for her to comprehend anyone actually wanting to go somewhere with her. Alone. For _fun_ . And yet…? Stan Pines wasn’t exactly _anyone_ …

She tossed it over in her mind some more, “Where did you want to go?” 

Stan blinked, “Oh uh like I said, nothing too opulent. No Louvre for us.” He had pronounced it ‘Lau-Vree’, but that could be ignored. “I don’t know, something close by. Crater Lake maybe? I’m sure you’ve been there a thousand ti-”

“I’ve never been to Crater Lake.”

“Wha-,” the man stammered, “You’ve lived in Oregon your whole life but have never been to Crater Lake?” 

Pacifica shrugged, “Never got the chance.” 

“Well then it’s decided,” Stan announced, grinning, “Destination: Crater Lake. You better pack your bags and get to bed soon. We leave at 3AM, blondie, no exceptions.” And with that, he disappeared in his usual Stan Pines-esque way, leaving no room for debate. Pacifica turned back to her statistics homework, suddenly less interested in it as ever. She took stock of all her belongings and began throwing clothes into a duffel bag. There was still one question: Digital or Film? 

“Well, as you always say, WWAAD? What would Ansel Adams do,” said the greek chorus. 

“Film, obviously,” the girl muttered, “Ansel would pick film.”

The following morning was rough. Stan made good on his 3AM departure date by throwing open the door, throwing a travel mug of coffee into the girl’s hands, and then throwing said girl into the passenger seat of his car, with the pig squealing and thrashing on the back bench. The roads would be treacherous, he said. Don’t want to destroy the beemer’s delicate axel. 

A map was shoved in Pacifica’s still groggy hands, fumbling it around until it was open. Upside down, but open, “Um you should probably know that I do not know how to read this.” 

Stan laughed, “You kids and your smartphones. Innovation my ass. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve taken this drive countless times.” Pacifica stared into the side of the man’s face with her still dropping eyes, taking a pull off the travel mug. The coffee was sweet and creamy, just the way she liked it. 

For a couple more minutes the two sat in silence, content to listen only to the sound of the wheels zipping on the highway and the pig rifling around in the back seat. Waddles probably swallowed half a floor mat by now, judging from the sound of it. Stan’s car had definitely seen way worse. 

“You know,” Stan started, eyes darting to look at his passenger, “After my brother...well after I moved to Gravity Falls, I used to drive down to Crater Lake all the time. Felt like I spent more time there than at the shack. It’s a good place to clear your head, kid. Breathe in the clean air, maybe dip your toes in the water.”

“Sounds nice.” 

“It sure does, doesn't it.” 

So they continued driving. Stan turned on the radio to some oldies channel, to which Pacifica was still too tired to protest against. They talked, making idle conversation about work and school and such. 

Stan scratched at his stubbly chin, “So have you given any thought to college?” 

The girl sighed, not entirely in the mood to be having this conversation so frequently, “Yeah, I’m going to study business.” 

“Oh,” the man blinked in surprise. Pacifica begged him not to go any deeper, to which for once in her life, her wish was granted. With a short ‘ok’ the topic was dropped. May god have mercy on Pacifica’s tortured soul. She drew her mouth into a thin line, choosing instead to attempt to decipher the map in her hands. The sun began rising, and a sharp ray of light hit the sweet spot the sun visor could not touch, striking the blonde right in her eyes.

About halfway through their journey, a realization dawned on Pacifica. This was the furthest away from Gravity Falls she had been in her entire life without her parents permission in some shape or form. Sure, she’d been all around the Pacific Northwest for golf tournaments, but that was a sanctioned activity. What she and Stan were doing right now? This felt like two people on the lamb, running from the law and all their problems. Not in, like, a cowardly way or anything, the girl surmised, ready to get up onto that mental pommel horse, but in a heroic way, the way a hero and his sidekick ride off together into the sunset. 

The car swerved around a slow driver, shaking Pacifica from her thoughts. Stan shot off a string of expletives and flipped the other driver the bird. It _was_ the other driver’s fault, really. Everyone knows the speed limit is just a suggestion, and although Stan’s style of going 20 over was a little...extreme...they sure were making good time. It was an adjustment, as the nearly snapped ligaments in her hand could attest to how hard she was gripping the inside door handle, but she’d rather go through life too fast than too slow. 

Pacifica let her head rest on the window, wincing as every bump in the road caused her forehead to thump on the glass. The thick wall of pine trees lining the highway looked lush and green, a stark contrast to the quickly dropping October temperatures. Mid-50’s, it would be colder at the lake. Pacifica was glad to be wearing a Gravity Falls High sweatshirt, as even in the car, where Stan’s heating didn’t work very well, the air was frigid. 

They neared their destination (the girl somehow managed to gather that from the heavily creased map) and Stan exited the highway to pull into an unassuming diner off the side of the road: a place called ‘The Baby Crater’. 

“They’re famous for their dutch babies,” Stan grunted out, getting out of the car and quickly slamming the door to keep the pig from escaping. The blonde nodded; her family’s private chef used to make a really great savory dutch baby with parmesan and fresh sa-

“Hey, blondie. Are we going to go inside or are you just going to stand there staring at the sign like it just revealed the face of God to you. I’m hungry, and I know you are too.” Pacifica snapped out of it, turning to face the man, who stood near the door, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in annoyance. His face, however, betrayed fond amusement. Bashful, Pacifica walked over and was greeted with a ruffling of her hair. She pushed the door open and the light tinkling of a bell announced their presence. 

A stout woman wearing an apron and sporting a graying beehive beckoned them to sit wherever they pleased. The diner was empty, save for the waitress and a man sitting at the counter nursing a cup of coffee as well as a newspaper. 

Stan and Pacifica slid into a booth. The cracked teal vinyl upholstery sat firm against their backs as the waitress sauntered over and cracked two mugs down on the table top. 

The waitress, or ‘Irma’, as her name tag said, poured the coffee. It smelled fresh, and steam rose up to meet the slowly rotating ceiling fan. 

“What are ya havin’,” said Irma, whipping out a pen and a small pad of paper. 

“I’ll have a dutch baby,” Stan answered, “And if you could load that thing up with powdered sugar, that would be great.” The table fell into brief silence as Irma wrote down his order.

“And for you,” she asked, turning to Pacifica. 

“Oh, um I’ll have some blueberry pancakes, please.”

“You want a side with that?” 

“...ham?” Pacifica cringed at the sound of her own voice. Why was she so nervous? 

“Ham it is. I’ll have that right out for ya.”

The truth was, Pacifica wasn’t nervous. Due to the fact that she had about the emotional range of a teaspoon, it was difficult for her to separate nerves from genuine excitement, which was what this was. One would think that someone who was constantly nervous would be able to instantly know when they weren’t, in fact, nervous, and yet? Pacifica still had a ways to go on that front. 

Stan watched her from over his mug of coffee, the fluorescent lights of the diner reflecting off his thick frames, “So, what’s your favorite place you’ve ever visited?” 

Pacifica thought about it. She had seen so many beautiful things, it was difficult to pick just one. “I really liked Budapest. There’s something so ‘old world’ about it that I think is really cool.”

“What about domestically?” 

The blonde blushed, “Actually this is my first trip within the US. Unless you could that layover we had in Houston on the way to Puerto Vallarta.”

“I do not count that.”

“I wouldn’t either,” she admitted, taking another sip of coffee. 

Stan studied her, and continued to do so even after their food arrived. He shoved forkfuls of dutch baby into his mouth, but never tore his eyes away from the blonde sitting opposite him, tucking into her pancakes with a daintiness only mastered over a lifetime. 

“You know, kid, you _really_ remind me of myself, sometimes,” he finally said around a mouth of food, eyebrows scrunched together in thought. 

Pacifica swallowed, “I don’t see how. My family tormented you and your family for years.”

“Yeah, but are you your family?”

The girl nearly choked, but finally managed to swallow a wad of pancake without passing out completely, “No,” she wheezed, voice hoarse as she reached for the mug, “I suppose not.” 

The older man gave a slight smile, “Didn’t think so. Anyway, like I was saying, I wandered through life for years without speaking to anyone from my family. Not that I’m saying you should consider talking to your parents...I would...um I would not recommend that. What I _am_ saying is that I think you should take the time to get to know people better because you’ll find that you’re not alone as you think.” Stan reached forward to pluck a piece of ham off her plate, shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth. Pacifica didn’t care; she was too busy trying not to sob. 

She glanced around the diner; it looked a lot like Greasy’s with its whole modest Americana vibe. The walls were planked with wood, and the decor consisted of various taxidermied heads and framed pictures of local celebrities. It felt like Gravity Falls, in a comforting way that most things that felt like Gravity Falls didn’t. The insight of being removed from one’s bubble, she supposed. 

Pacifica turned back to her plate, hiding behind her bangs in an effort to quell both the tears and the smile threatening to overtake her face. She felt Stan’s gaze still trained on her. It was good to know someone was keeping their eye on her, keeping her out of trouble. 

“Thank you, Stan. That really means a lot to me,” she said, trying to keep the waver out of her voice as much as possible. She peeked up to see Stan’s grin matching hers. There were pieces of dutch baby stuck in his teeth, but the sentiment was all there. 

“Blondie, how many times do people have to tell you to call me Grunkle? Stan, it’s too formal,” Mr. Mystery said. He changed his tone, “Now if only I could get Soos to stop calling me Mr. Pines…” Pacifica appreciated the joke. It lightened the mood enough for them to revert back into their usual comfortable silence. She laid her chin on a balled fist and looked out the window; a group of people gathered around Stan’s car, most likely admiring the pig in the back seat. Always a glutton for attention, Pacifica was certain he was giving his adoring public his best smize. 

Soon, the two of them cleared their plates, and after three failed attempts to get them to order a slice of what Irma called ‘Pie Surprise’, the waitress brought them their bill, awkwardly hovering over their table to watch Stan fill it out. 

“Is she your daughter,” the woman blurted out, gesturing towards Pacifica. 

The questions threw Stan for a loop, and after a few stuttered attempts, “No, she’s my niece.” 

Pacifica didn’t even have time to process what he’d just said before Irma cut in again, “Oh ok. I wasn’t sure if she was your daughter, or your wife...we get all kinds here.” The scribbling of pen on paper stopped and Pacifica’s face turned bright red in effort to not spit coffee everywhere. The companions just stared open-mouthed at the woman’s retreating back. It seemed like weirdos were abundant in Oregon. It was comforting, in a way, to know that Gravity Falls did not house all these people, and that they were distributed somewhat evenly across the state.

“She totally doesn’t deserve the huge tip I’m giving her,” Stan muttered, blowing air out his nose. 

But back to what Stan said, “You think of me as your niece?” 

The man held up his hands in defense, “Well I had to say _something_. Didn’t want her to think I was your kidnapper or something.” 

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me your niece,” Pacifica smirked, choosing now to poke the bear. 

His hands became even more frantic, “No I-I do! You’re my family now, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? Can we get out of here now before Waddles eats a hole through my car door?”

The grin split Pacifica’s face, but she nodded and slid out of the booth. Stan got up too, but as soon as he was on his feet, a mess of smiles and blonde hair enveloped him in a crushing hug, one he tentatively returned. 

A couple seconds passed, “This is sweet and all, kid, but really I’m worried about the pig.”

Soon enough, the pair plus pig made it to their motel just outside the boundaries of the national park. In a past life, this was the kind of place Pacifica would spit on as their chauffeured car passed. All chipped paint and buzzing neon sign, ‘The Crater Inn’ did not look particularly inviting, though after the journey, Pacifica wanted nothing more to lie down in a bed, no matter how dusty the sheets were. 

The inside of the room was slightly more charming. At least the fishing lure wallpaper was something to look at, and the place _was_ clean. Despite consuming quite a lot of coffee that morning, the girl felt her body droop, and after throwing her bags onto a nearby chair, she fell face first into the bed, taking a large whiff of the motel’s lavender laundry detergent. 

She heard Stan chuckle and give some vague promise to feed the pig, but before long, Pacifica drifted off, shoes still on and legs hanging off the side of the mattress. 

Waking up roughly an hour later, the girl sat up and took in the scene around her. Stan expertly worked the TV, presumably because it looked exactly like the one they had at home. Waddles trolled the carpet in search of crumbs and bugs; Pacifica refused to think about what he would find in there and made a mental note to not be barefoot in the room for the duration of their stay. She’d just have to figure something out for the shower. 

Stan scratched the hair under his Fez and noticed that slowly awakening girl, “Oh good. You’re up. Should we head out to the lake?” 

After a short drive, the duo began the walk to the lake. The cool October air was brisk and refreshing, the air itself feeling more clean than anywhere else in the world. Waddles trailed close behind them, occasionally stopping to dig around in the moss. Pacifica laughed when she saw Stan had purchased an emotional support animal vest for the pig to wear, but the girl had to admit that it was pretty much true despite all the trouble the little guy always seemed to wander into. 

“You know it’s good we got out here now. Any later in the year and the snow might’ve been a problem,” Stan said, keeping pace with Pacifica pretty well, much to the girl’s surprise. She reached out and brushed a hand over a bush, caressing the leaves and branches. A drop of condensation fell from the heavens and hit her in the forehead, forcing her to look up into the sun filtering through all the trees. So far, although the overall ambiance was nice, it didn’t seem like anything she couldn’t get back in Gravity Falls. 

That was until she saw the lake.

Rounding a bend, the hushed conversations of a couple groups of tourists could be heard, and finally breaking through the tree line, Crater Lake in all its majesty came fully into view. Impossibly deep and brilliantly blue, Pacifica gasped as her eyes widened to take in beauty before her. 

She immediately reached for her camera, missing the chuckle from Stan as she did so. And like a tempest, Pacifica was off: taking photos from every angle and position possible, before she knew it, two rolls of film were completely filled. A realization struck her. She had seen his picture, one of Pacifica’s personal heroes, Ansel Adams had stood at this exact spot and looked over the exact same view. Standing in the footsteps of giants, the girl suddenly felt a little smaller. 

Stan’s voice broke her out of her trance, “You know, Paz, are you sure you wouldn’t want to consider a career in photography?” 

She could hear the smile in his voice and responded in kind, “Ya know, I’ve been hearing that a lot recently,” she joked, spinning on her heel to snap a quick pic of Stan. The two of them were wearing their matching hats again, and the deep maroon of the man’s fez made great contrast against the sapphire blue lake in the background. 

He shielded his face but laughed nonetheless, “Hey, hey, no press. Can’t have these pictures leakin’ to the feds.” 

“Oh come on Grunkle Stan, why would the feds be interested in pictures of our trip to Crater Lake.”

Stan shushed her, crouching down so they could speak in whispers, “I’m glad you asked. Here’s your first political science lesson. Never trust the government with anything. Ever.”

Pacifica just nodded along, choosing to pretend she didn’t know the man in front of her never paid a single tax in his whole life, “Will you at least agree to take a picture with me? For posterity?” 

He grumbled, but Pacifica saw a smile peak through. Without answering, he followed her to the edge of the observation deck and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder. The blonde took out her phone and beckoned over a fellow tourist to take their picture. It made the girl’s skin crawl that her own face wouldn’t be captured in the highest quality available at that moment, but her cameras were for her use only. With a click of the shutter, but not before Pacifica reminded the stranger to hold her phone in landscape and not portrait, she and Stan’s smiles were captured for all of time. For once, she didn’t even have to force it, the smile coming naturally from being surrounded by pure natural beauty as well as the people she loved. 

The phone was handed back to her. She examined the pictures: adequate. 

Stan removed his arm from her shoulder, stopping on the way to readjust the brim of her ball cap, “So I noticed that you didn’t want our picture taken with your actual camera.”

Pacifica scoffed, “I’m not about to trust some random with my prized possession.”

Her statement surprised the man, causing him to laugh, “That’s my girl.” 

It blew Pacifica’s mind that a place like this even existed. She thought of the people that lived on this sacred land thousands of years ago. What did they think when Mount Mazama, a volcano that seemed like a permanent fixture on the landscape would just suddenly collapse, and in its place, a lake full of crystal clear perfect water would form. 

One day, thousands of years ago, the world was changed forever, only to birth a wonder of the world, something people came to admire from all over the world. It really put things into perspective. 

Later that night, Pacifica and Stan sat across from each other in another wood paneling heavy restaurant, digging into some very high quality meatloaf. Waddles was tied up right outside the door, no doubt drawing another adoring crowd. 

“So what did you think of the lake,” Stan asked, watching amused as Pacifica dug into her dinner like a ravenous dog with manners, clearly starving, but maintaining proper fork grip all the while. 

She paused to swallow before answering, “Oh my god, it’s gorgeous. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before. My parents were wrong about our country; there’s totally some gems scattered around here and there.”

“Your parents are wrong about a lot of things.” His comment was mostly offhanded, but it still made Pacifica set down her silverware. 

Mind cycling through every emotion, she chose her words carefully, “You know, being here with you, it has really made me realize a couple things.”

“Oh,” Stan said, stabbing into his side of mashed potatoes, “Just a couple?”

She let the smirk crawl back into her voice, “Yes, just a few. It seems like there is a slight possibility...that the world...is actually bigger than myself,” she threw up her hands and laughed, “Who knew?” The man across the table threw back his head and laughed with her, causing the fez to shift around the top of his head. 

“Anything else?”

The blonde chewed on a green bean, “Yeah, first of all I’d like to say thank you for taking me on this trip.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Second of all...I-I-...um what I’m trying to say is...I l-lo-...sorry this shouldn’t be so hard for me to get out.” 

Stan reached across the table to quell Pacifica’s suddenly trembling hands. His palms were warm, heavily calloused from years of hard work, “It’s ok, kid. I know, and me too. You’re my family now.”

A long breath released itself from a strong roman nose as blue eyes closed in acceptance. She nodded, letting the feeling wash over her.

“Family.” 

The next two and a half were spent much like the first: full of rustic food and with Pacifica absolutely gushing over the scenery like a zoo animal being reintroduced to its natural habitat. She was home, and home, it seemed, was Oregon. 

Their spoils were plentiful. Pacifica filled up nearly seven entire rolls of film, Stan managed to barter with the best of them with the cashier in the gift shop, and Waddles stole three people’s wallets! Unfortunately, for the pig, his human companions discovered his crimes before he could do anything substantial with them: plans of identity theft were left in the dust. 

The drive back home was spent in more signature comfortable silence as Pacifica mentally cataloged all the firsts she experienced and amazing things she saw on their excursion. She was glad Stan was a sufficient photographer in his own right, otherwise there would be no documentation of the elk that stole Pacifica’s sunglasses right off her face. All for the artistry, she said to herself. It was fine; she had five identical pairs back at the shack. 

“Have you ever played Oregon Trail?” 

“Are you about to reduce my culture down to a single video game? Because that doesn’t seem very cash money of you,” Pacifica joked to the Dipper sitting across the screen from her. The second they got home Monday evening, the blonde dashed to her room to call up her best friend to describe every aspect of her trip in excruciating detail. 

Dipper laughed, resting his face in his palm. He scratched at the side of his face; Pacifica could see the stubble growing there, and although she did not approve, there was nothing she could do about it from 600 miles away. “Yeah, whatever. I’m prejudiced against Oregonians, so what. How was the trip?” 

Pacifica could barely choose what to start with, “It was amazing. I’d never been before-”

“ _Really_? Even I’ve been to Crater Lake,” seeing the look on his friend’s face, Dipper’s own expression turned sheepish, “Sorry, won’t interrupt again.” 

The girl clicked her tongue, “ _Anyway_ , as I was saying. It was gorgeous, unlike anything I’d ever seen before. You know, Dip, this whole trip made me do some serious realizing.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you realize?” 

Pacifica smiled, “A lot of things, but mainly about the inherent beauty present in all things.” 

Dipper’s eyes widened, “Oh ok, we’re philosophical Pacifica tonight.”

“I’m always philosophical Pacifica. Some might even call me a philosopher king. But yeah, going to places of such vivid natural beauty really force you to recognize how precious every moment is. Life is so short, and it shouldn’t be wasted on doing things that hurt you.” 

The boy perked up, realizing that the blonde was on the verge of a breakthrough, “Go on.” 

They made eye-contact and Pacifica’s words slowed as the ideas connected together in her brain, “It’s just...when I think of what I want to do in life, the answer is simple: I want to experience beautiful things and cherish the ones I love and care about. And unfortunately, I have a history of doing neither of those things. And now that I’m starting to realize that I have more to love...I...um...I need to be more mindful of…,” something lit up within the girl’s mind and she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Shit...I’ve been an idiot.”

“What else is new.”

She rubbed her face and sighed, eyebrows knit together. When they finally made eye-contact once more, Pacifica’s blues were as clear as the lake, “I’m sorry dude. I’ll call you back later. There’s something I gotta do now.”

She shut the computer with a click and took a moment to think, tapping her toes on the oaken floors. A few seconds later, she nodded one resolute nod, and went downstairs, calling over her shoulder to tell Stan that she’d be back in a little bit. 

And that was how Pacifica Northwest found herself riding her bike across town, weaving and bobbing between pedestrians and parked cars. The cool autumn air whipped through her hair and rustled her jacket, but the girl had no mental real estate to give to the weather: her only thought was how to get to the Chiu residence. 

Finally pulling up in front of the quaint A-frame, Pacifica threw the bike on the lawn and ran up to the door, stopping just short of desperately pounding on the door. She didn’t want to barge in like she was leading a raid. Plus, it was getting darker out, so Candy might be headed off to bed. Still, it was a risk Pacifica was willing to take. Pulling out her phone she shot a quick text off to the other girl which read ‘Hey can we talk? Not to be creepy but I’m outside your house rn.’ 

Seconds later, the blonde’s phone pinged with a notification: ‘Wtf, stalker much? Whatever I’ll be right down.’

Suddenly, the door was thrown open to reveal a highly unamused Candy Chiu, dressed to the nines in her finest pair of pyjama pants. She crossed her arms and stepped outside to meet Pacifica on the front stoop, closing the door behind her. She gestured for Pacifica to have at it. 

The taller of the two shivered, finally noticing the cold and wrapping her jacket tighter around her. In a marvelous string of rambling word-vomit, “Candy I’m really sorry for what I said to you. It was wrong of me to go off on you like that. Not that it’s relevant, but I had a rough couple days before that, but that’s still no excuse. I am deeply sorry for calling you a bitch. It’s not true, in fact you’re like the person furthest from being a bitch that I know. And anyway I’m just super sorry and I totally get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore. At least we could get some closure, and I swear on god to never do anything like that ever again, to you, or _anyone_ ,” she yelled, breathing hard by the end of her speech. 

Candy picked at a loose thread on the waistband of her pants, mulling over Pacifca’s apology and keeping the other girl in an extreme level of suspense. 

Pacifica was about ready to evacuate the premises when the black-haired girl offered a hand and a slight smile, “I accept your apology, and I also offer my own. I shouldn't have confronted you in public like that without giving you a chance to explain. I also totally shouldn’t have slapped you like that, although it was really satisfying to see your sunglasses clatter on the ground like that.” 

Ignoring the hand sent out to her, Pacifica laughed and instead chose to envelope the girl in a hug, lifting the other girl a few inches off the ground. 

Setting Candy back on the ground, they stared at each other for a long moment before cracking up, doubled over with hands on knees.

“Friends?”

“Friends. On one condition.” 

“Name it.” 

Candy smirked, a twinkle in her eye, “I want you to pick me up for school in the beemer. Make myself look cool as fuck.” 

“Done,” Pacifica agreed without a second thought. It did not matter to her that Candy’s house was completely the opposite direction from the high school. She was just happy they were friends again. 

The shorter girl, chuckled again, pushing the glasses further up her nose, “Do you want to come in? I have so much gossip to get you caught up on.” 

“Super tempting, but I better not. I’ve been gone the whole weekend and kinda need to catch up on some homework.” 

The other girl nodded, “I see. May the mighty mole have mercy on your academic soul,” she said. Pacifica got back on the bike. “I expect to see a white BMW in my drive-way tomorrow morning,” was called after her. The blonde threw an enthusiastic thumbs up in response.

The following morning, Candy slid into the passenger side of Pacifica’s car, smiling all the way. She handed over the AUX cord, which her friend took with enthusiasm, queuing up some band Pacifica didn’t recognize. 

After a couple minutes of driving in silence save for the radio, Candy spoke up, “So you mentioned you were away for the weekend?”

Pacifica glanced over as they entered the morning bottleneck. So much traffic for such a little town. “Yeah, Stan and I went to Crater Lake. It was really nice. I’d never been before.” She took a pull of coffee from her travel mug.

“Huh, neither have I.” 

This time, Pacifica _did_ spray the interior of her windshield with brown liquid as she and Candy once more dissolved into peels of laughter. 

Well, Grunkle Stan sure was right: in no way was Pacifica Elise Northwest alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Halloween Special! So I stg it'll actually be released on the day because otherwise that would be kind of stupid. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed. See you then bye.
> 
> (I actually just am editing this note now because I realize that my attitude in the author’s notes in this chapter are kind of apathetic. Do not get the impression that I’m getting burned out on this work. In fact, between work and school this fic is like the one thing that I’m doing rn for myself. It’s keeping me sane. Like I said I’m just exhausted. There is no cause for alarm.)


	15. Creatures in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I said this was coming Halloween, and I'm sorry, but it's here now. I'll have some more to say on that in the ending notes, but it's been a strange couple days for me. In short, I am an American...so I feel as though I don't need to say a WHOLE lot else...
> 
> Anyway, here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Here's the companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=4eaJDOmWQt-Ze_cK-7vh-Q
> 
> Enjoy something a little lighter. I kinda just wanted to write a fun little Halloween chapter. Next time we will be back to our regularly scheduled angst. 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and kudos, I love hearing from y'all.

“So do you have plans tomorrow night?”

Pacifica paused at the enlarger in the school’s dark room, glancing over at the boy at the station next to her, “Gideon, are you asking me out?” 

“God no.”

“Good because you are  _ not my type _ .” 

The boy scoffed, flicking an invisible flyaway from his perfectly crafted helmet-like hair, “As your friend,” he started. Pacifica wasn’t sure she would go  _ that  _ far to describe their relationship, but she didn’t bother to correct the boy. “I like to know what’s going on in your life. Plus I kinda agreed to go to the Andersons’ Halloween bash and I need someone to go with.” 

Ah yes. The Anderson twins’ annual Halloween party. Pacifica went once or twice. It was a popular gig, but of course it would be. They were popular boys, as expected for the star quarterback and wide receiver of Centaurs. Too bad the team  _ sucked _ , just like their party. 

“Don’t go to that,” the girl warned, scrunching up her nose, “The liquor is bad and you  _ will  _ get groped. It’s basically just a bunch of drunk guys trying and failing to get lucky with a bunch of bored girls.” 

Gideon narrowed his eyes at her, making absentminded adjustments on the focus knob of his own enlarger. The boy still didn’t really know what he was doing. From the way the image was quickly going more and more out of focus, it was clear to Pacifica that she still had a ways to go with teaching her mentee the basics of photography. She didn’t like the way he was staring at her, but when he finally opened his mouth she liked that even less, “Wouldn’t that be just your kind of scene though? Girls getting tired of loser boys just for Pacifica the gay and powerful to swoop in and sweep them off their feet?” 

Tired of watching Gideon get nowhere, the blonde reached over and fiddled with the various knobs on the enlarger, the muscle memory taking over, “You make me sound so predatory. Just trust me on this. Don’t go to that party.” 

“Well then what would you have me do instead?” 

Aaannnd thus Pacifica played herself. She couldn’t just tell the boy to abstain from the party without giving him another suggestion. Well, there was another option, and she might as well ask. He probably wouldn’t even say yes… Pacifica swallowed, praying to any god that would listen for Gideon to  _ not  _ accept, “Well, I’m having some people over at the shack tomorrow night. We’d watch some movies, eat some pizza, the usual. You can...come...if you want…”

“Who’s people?”

“Candy.”

“Stan hates me.” 

“This is true.” She fiddled with one of her many rings.

To Pacifica’s horror, the boy actually seemed to think it over, “Can I wear a costume,” he asked.

She rolled her eyes, “Um actually, you  _ have  _ to wear a costume.”

Gideon turned back to the enlarger, still messing with all the dials, “I’m in, but you have to keep Stan Pines off my back.”

“Fine,” she grunted out, eyes growing wide as she realized why the image just refused to focus, “Gideon, can I see your contact sheet?” The boy handed it over, and Pacifica’s suspicions were confirmed. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “What the hell? Did you take these while riding a horse? They’re all  _ blurry _ !” 

Gideon stared at her, mouth a shocked ‘O’, “I thought I could just focus them at the enlarger…” 

“... _ NO…”  _

Later that night, Pacifica sat across from Stan Pines at the dinner table, going to town on a plate of casserole that the man claimed was an old ‘Pines family secret’. Since she began living at the Mystery Shack, the girl was surprised to discover that Stan was actually not a terrible cook. He was lazy as hell, but when pushed to eat better, as the blonde had not-so-subtly been trying to do, the man was willing and able to whip up something of actual substance: something green...that didn’t come in a can from the Cold War. 

“So I invited another person over for tomorrow night,” Pacifica said around a mouthful of tater tot. 

Stan grunted, scratching at his sideburns, “This get-together is getting kind of expensive, kid. How many pizzas are you going to need? Like, 10?”

The girl clucked her tongue, “Like, two, Stan. Also don’t even start about the money. I met Dipper and Mabel at a huge bash that  _ you  _ threw.”

“Those parties are for work, so they’re tax write-offs.”

“I  _ really _ don’t think they are-”

The man cleared his throat, cutting off her further protestations, “Yeah but are  _ you  _ going to tell the IRS?” Satisfied by Pacifica’s shake of the head, he continued, “Anyway, I guess having two of your friends over tomorrow won’t be a huge financial blow. Who is it anyway? Are you and Grenda finally burying the hatchet?” 

“No.” Her response was curt, and she turned her wide-eyed, nervous sweating attention to shuffling casserole around her plate. She could feel Stan’s lazer eyes locked onto the crown of her dirty blonde head, but the girl would rather witness a car crash than look the man in the eye. 

“Well, who then,” the older man asked, tone suspicious.

“Gideon,” she muttered, so quiet only the mice could hear. 

“Didn’t hear ya, kid.”

Might as well just get it out there, “I said Gideon. I invited Gideon Gleeful to come hang out here tomorrow.” 

Stan balked, “Blondie, you can’t be serious-”

“Just hear me out,” she rushed out, gripping the edge of the kitchen table’s gingham tablecloth, “Gideon was going to go to this party that I have been to in years past and know is bad. So I told him not to go and he was like well I’m not just going to stay home and I was like shit. So I invited him, not really expecting him to accept, but of course with my luck he...did. So…”

Stan appraised the girl sitting opposite him, arms crossed across his broad chest, “I’m not going to be nice to him.”

Pacifica let out a sigh of relief, “You don’t have to be. You just can’t be actively mean.” 

The man threw his hands up in defeat, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “Fine, whatever,” seeing Pacifica’s premature celebration, he stopped her to add another condition, “But you better have told him that costumes are  _ not  _ optional. If we’re doin’ Halloween, we’re doin’ it right.” 

The grin threatened to split her face, “Don’t worry. I already made that very clear,” she said, delighting at how the scowl began to fade from Stan’s face. 

He shook his head, “The things I do for you kids. Speaking of costumes, you still haven’t told me yours.”

“Well, you haven’t shared yours either,” Pacifica countered, a sly smile forming on her face, “I’ll just say this: Candy and I are doing a couple’s costume. Also, did you know that Soos is quite the talented tailor?”

Stan narrowed his eyes and picked up another forkful of casserole, “Soos becomes more of an enigma with each passing day…” 

The following afternoon, hair expertly crafted into victory rolls, Pacifica set to work applying impeccable cherry-red lipstick. The festivities would soon begin, and with the candy in its bowl, the pizza ordered, and the spooky movies queued up on the TV. Halloween night quickly approached. Still, the girl was clueless to what Stan’s costume was. She guessed something public-domain. Knowing the man, he would never spring for anything even remotely expensive. 

Satisfied with the makeup, she stepped over to the bed, on which a bubblegum-pink jacket laid on top of the covers. She ran her hands on the black stitching on the back. It said ‘Pink Ladies’, clear as day. The quality of the craftsman ship truly was something to be admired. 

Jesus Ramirez: The next Yves Saint Laurent. Who knew?

She shrugged the jacket on over her black tank top, the satin smooth against her bare shoulders. It came to rest at her waist, meeting the black poodle skirt, another custom-made Soos signature. The blonde glanced at the kitten heels sitting in the corner of the attic. Scrunching up her nose, “Nah, not happening,” Pacifica thought, “Who wears shoes in their own home?”

Soon enough, the doorbell of the shack rang, and upon hearing no movement from Stan, Pacifica threw off a sarcastic ‘I’ll get it’ and padded downstairs, the wood flooring cool on her bare feet. She threw open the front door, setting off an evil laugh Stan had rigged to play anytime it was opened. Candy stood in front of her, wearing an identical Pink Ladies costume and looking well...adorable. 

The two girls squealed at each other, thrilled with how well their outfits turned out. “Girl, you look so  _ cute _ ,” Candy enthused as Pacifica ushered her into the living room.

“I could say the same about you! Oh my gosh this is so awesome we have to take soooo many pictures!” The two friends sat down on the couch, digging into a bowl of chips that was on the coffee table. “Ya know, Candy, I’m kind of surprised you accepted my invite. I figured you and Grenda would have something planned.” 

Candy laughed around a mouthful of chips, “Grenda’s at some Halloween thing with the wrestling team. She invited me but I was like...no...that’s ok…”

“Your loss, frankly.” 

“Haha stop it,” the dark haired girl said, playfully shoving Pacifica. 

The doorbell rang, and before either girl could begin to move from the couch, Stan appeared in a caped-flurry of rhinestones, grabbing the bowl of candy on the way. The loud cackling was once again triggered, and the sound of the screams of young children filled the shack as Stan threw the shittiest of candy at them. 

“Happy Halloween kids! See ya next year,” the man yelled in his hoarse voice as he shut the door and turned to the girls on the couch. Finally able to get a good look at the man, the look on Candy and Pacifica’s faces was pure bewilderment. He wore huge oversized shades that the blonde suspected might actually be hers, but the accessory was just one piece of his whole getup. Between the rhinestone-laden white jumpsuit with a cape and the equally pearly-white platform boots, Pacifica unfortunately had a good idea of what the heck was going on. 

“So, kids. Can you guess who I am?” 

“Liberace,” Candy blurted out. 

“No.” 

Pacifica’s turn, “A late-career Elvis.”

Stan scratched at the back of his hair and muttered, “I wouldn’t say  _ late  _ career.” 

“I would.” 

“We-well you look,” the man gestured vaguely, trying to find fault with the girls’ costumes, “Well actually you look really great. So good for you I guess.” 

A smug grin spread over Pacifica’s face, “ _ Thank you _ !” 

The doorbell chimed once more, playing Danse Macabre. Pacifica had to admit: Yesterday, when she had rigged it for the festivities, it had been kind of funny, but the girl now realized that throughout the night, those bars would soon grow very  _ very  _ old  _ very  _ fast. Stan continued to stew in his annoyance and made no move for the door. Pacifica sighed, standing up as whoever was outside began spamming the bell, forcing the girl to pray that Saint-Saens’ immortal soul was being tortured mightily in the deepest pits of hell. 

Tone poem her ass. That shit was more like musical black magic. 

She threw open the door, cringing at the canned laughter that cued itself. Standing in front of her, at about neck height, was Gideon Gleeful, and at the sight of the boy, Pacifica’s annoyance dissipated into uncontrollable laughter. 

“What?! Why are you laughing at me,” chided the boy. Pacifica beckoned Stan and Candy to the open door, doubled over in hysterics. 

Upon seeing the sight, “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Stan exclaimed as Candy herself exploded into giggles. 

Through her tears, Pacifica took another look at Gideon’s outfit, practically a carbon copy of Stan’s, bedazzled sunglasses and all. “Well,” she wheezed, “It looks like one of you is going to have to change.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“No chance.” 

“Well Pacifica,” Candy started, elbowing her friend in the side, “It looks like we’ve got an abundance of kings.” She turned to Gideon and pointed at Stan, “I’d be careful, Gideon. You could be looking into your future.” 

The boy stared at the still laughing girls, blood boiling, “Y’all gunna to let me in or not? There’s a bunch of kids behind me waiting to get their candy, and you’re just standing there laughing at me.” 

“Oh right lol.” 

The night wore on, and Pacifica, Candy, and Gideon squished together on the couch, eating quickly cooling pizza and watching low-budget horror on whatever random basic-cable station Stan the Cheap-Ass had. The movies were not...high class cinema, to say the least, and the amount of fake blood in each scene was enough to turn a girl off to ketchup for the rest of her life. But still, it was some good fun, and with every melodramatic scream from the screen, the friends responded with their own mocking yelps and laughter. 

Pacifica’s phone buzzed; A FaceTime request from one Dipper Pines. She accepted eagerly and her friend’s face came into view, complete with cat ears and drawn on whiskers. The blonde recognized the background as the basement of the Pines’ residence, but there was an unexpected level of noise, making it hard to hear. 

“Dip...what is your costume?” 

The boy scratched at his scruffy hair, knocking the headband out of place, “Well, for some reason, Mabel wanted to be the live action Cats for Halloween, and ya know I like a little body horror now and then, but then the reality of the limitations of our resources dawned on us but we didn’t have anything else planned so I am...a cat.” 

“You’re a cat for Halloween.” 

“Yes.” 

Gideon snorted beside her, “Boy, I thought you couldn’t get anymore lame.”

“Shut up Gideon. I called Pacifica, not you.” 

The freshman turned his attention back to the TV, “Not like I would want to talk to you anyways Dipper Pines.” 

Dipper clucked his tongue and motioned someone from the commotion on screen with him. Pacifica had never seen the boy in question before. Dressed in some variation of super hero that the girl didn’t recognize, she wondered if this boy had anything to do with my Dipper was FaceTiming her in the middle of what was clearly some kind of Halloween party.

“So this is my friend Jacob P. Behind me are Jaecob A., Jakob I., Jayckobb McD., and Chet. Say hi guys.” A chorus of teen boys greeted her through the phone. 

Jacob P. stared at Pacifica. He had hazel eyes. They were very pretty, but the girl was still confused as to what was actually occurring… 

“See, guys? I told you she was real,” Dipper proudly announced as the phone was wrestled away from him as the company of Jacobs (plus Chet) could get a better look at the socialite. 

One of the boys nudged Dipper in his ribs, “Damn Dipper, you talked about her so much I was  _ convinced  _ that she was just one of your late night fantasies.” 

“Yeah, man if you don’t hit that, I will.” 

Pacifica coughed reminding them she was there. Six pairs of eyes shot lasers into her soul. “Um, sorry to break it to you fellas, but I’m actually gay, as I’m sure dear DipDop has mentioned.” 

Five disappointed sighs followed by Dipper’s exclaimed, “Yes, Pacifica, I did obviously,” erupted from California. Sensing that there was no hot Oregonian girl available to seduce, the other boys went back to milling about the basement, presumably to make weak attempts at flirting with what few girls the twins had actually invited. She heard Mabel’s laughter come from somewhere in the background, but it was obviously fake. Another strike out for Chet, Pacifica supposed. 

Her friend rolled his eyes, once more rubbing the back of his head, “I’m really sorry about them. Teenage boys, ya know?”

Pacifica snorted, “Remind me why you’re friends with those guys again?” 

“Mathletes, mostly.” 

“Gross.” 

They smiled fondly at each other, but the over-produced sounds of murder emanating from the Mystery Shack’s TV tore Pacifica’s attention away. Nothing of note happened on screen; just the murder of the protagonist’s promiscuous wife. It didn’t seem like the protagonist had much time left on Earth either…

Dipper sighed and readjusted his cat ears, “Well, I can see you are otherwise occupied. Just wanted to prove to the guys that you  _ aren’t  _ just a figment of my imagination.” 

“Jury’s still out on that one, bud,” Gideon chimed in again, inhaling another slice of pepperoni pizza. 

“Again, Gideon,” the brunette seethed, “No one asked you. Nonetheless, I’ll let you go. Bye.”

“Bye,” the three couch-dwellers said, “Tell your sister I said hey.” And with a salute, Dipper’s face disappeared from the screen. 

Enter Grunkle Stan, who was on trick or treater duty, not having the luxury of tuning out Danse Macabre like the teens. He noticed the three of them scrolling through their phones despite the presence of the television, and after another round of tossing candy out the door, snuck up behind the kids, resting his forearms on Gideon’s tall hair, squishing it down into the boy’s eyes. 

“You kids and your phones. Back in my day, Halloween was a huge event. Even bigger than prom! Even bigger than  _ Christmas _ !” 

Pacifica, not even looking up from her Twitter feed, “Well, it’s  _ our  _ day now, and we just want to spend it on the couch watching shitty B-horror movies.” 

The man kept rambling, “It was great! Tons of parties, tons of food, ghost hunting, not to mention all the lovely ladies in scandalous costumes of every kind.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“But the best part of all of it was when me and the guys would sit down and trade scary stories. Not to brag...but your Grunkle Stan was quite the tale-weaver back in his prime.” 

A piece of intrigue indeed. Like a hive mind, all three kids snapped up from their phones at the same time, “Alright, old man. I’ll bite,” Pacifica said, Candy and Gideon nodding along with her, “Give us your best spine-tingler.” 

Stan grinned and cracked his knuckles, taking a hard seat on the ottoman between the kids and the TV, “Now you’re talkin’. Our tale begins off the shores of New Jersey, as all the best stories do. A tale passed down to me by my father, who was told it by his father and so on back through the ages.” 

“Get on with it,” Gideon heckled. 

“Hey I’m the one tellin’ the story. Anyway...the shores of New Jersey, a place known for good times and decreased legal scrutiny, even back in the colonial days. The year? 1700. The place? New Jer-” 

“That’s the third time you’ve said that!” 

“Look, you wanna hear this story or not?” He got no more protestations from the teens, “That’s what I thought. Back in those days, America was new, and the first Europeans fought an uphill battle to survive. Resources were scarce, and the threat of attacks from animals, disease, or the native peoples were a source of constant anxiety. Twas one dark and stormy night, when the people living on the shore watched with bated breath as a ship carrying provisions dodged around the rocky shores to find safe passage into the eagerly waiting dock. Food, building supplies, clothing, money: everything a fledgling colony needed to survive, all on one vessel.” 

The man leaned forward, pushing a strand of gray hair out of his eyes, “The ship’s name was ‘Temperance’, and she was captained by the best crew on either side of the Atlantic. On the night in question, the sails on Temperance’s three masts billowed with the whipping wind as she bobbed and weaved around anything standing in her way.” 

The man’s smile grew as the kids sat in more and more rapt attention. He continued, “The people on shore grew more and more excited with each passing minute as Temperance floated ever closer into safe harbor. Magnifying glasses at the ready, each person watched and waited, seeing their salvation on the horizon. Suddenly,” he yelled, throwing his hands up, to which the three on the couch recoiled in surprise, “A light brighter than a thousand suns and greener pinker than the jackets that sit on your back lit up the night sky, blinding everyone within miles of the coast. But just as quickly as it appeared, the light went away, and the people of New Jersey watched in dismay as the ship slammed against a rocky outcropping, plunging into the sea mere minutes away from the harbor.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Candy exclaimed, completely enthralled by the tale.

“ _ Yes _ , but, there was still hope. The ship may have quickly sunk, but that didn’t mean the cargo was unsalvageable. The people recovered as quickly as possible, and sent out a rowboat of six of the most able-bodied men in town to attempt to retrieve as much of the provisions as possible. Now, at this point, it was pretty late at night, and although there was still much to see, the townsfolk knew that there was no killer like those that lurked in the night, so assuming the men would be successful, they went to bed, eager to crack into their spoils in the morning. The next morning came and went, with no sign of the men. The Temperance had all but disappeared, the only evidence of her existence being the tip of her middle mast which poked out of the water like a warning to all those that crossed the shores. Still not hide no hair was found of the rescue party, but what did wash upon shore were crates upon crates of supplies. Food, building supplies, clothing, money: All of it untouched in it’s birch wood crates. Although it was undoubtedly a tragedy for the families of the men who went out, their disappearances were overshadowed by the relief that the people would survive another harsh New Jersey winter. And the story of the blinding flash that sunk colonial America’s greatest ship faded from memory-”

“Is that  _ it _ ,” Pacifica yelled, “That was barely even spoo-” 

“Did I say I was done, Ms. Northwest,” the blonde shook her head, slumping back down into the couch, “Right, so like I said, the story of the Temperance and the missing rescue party was lost to history...that was until about 250 years later. Cut to the shores of New Jersey. The time? The early 1960’s. Two boys explore the beaches, looking for any mystery and treasure they can get their hands on.” 

“No fucking way.” 

“Interrupt me again kid and I swear to god. Two boys, combing the beach. Many rocky coves and caves dot the shoreline, and the boys believed they had mapped out every single one, masters of the Jersey shore. Or so they thought, until low tide exposed one such cave the two had overlooked. Excited for a new adventure, the brothers rushed the sands, climbing through algae covered rocks to slide into the cave’s entrance, which was further obscured by some very old looking driftwood. The boys crawled inside, water soaking their socks as they became the first people in over two centuries to enter the cave. They moved deeper and deeper inside, and the trickling of water and the scurry of creatures unknown filled the air. Led only by the faint glow of their lantern, the cave eventually opened up, revealing a large chamber with wood and cloth scattered all over it. In the center sat a small wooden row boat...and as the boys grew closer they discovered…” 

“Oh my god what was it,” Candy squealed. The other two teens shot her a  **look** , confused as to how into the tale the girl was. 

“...six skeletons, the remains of colonial era clothing still on their cursed remains. The word ‘Temperance’ was scratched into one of the planks of their vessel, a last word and last plea to the unforgiving sea.” And with that, Stan ‘Late-Career Elvis’ Pines sat back, resting on the laurels of a good story.

Pacifica pursed her lips. Gideon scoffed. Candy, however, flailed in excitement, “Wow. Mr. Pines! That was awesome!” 

“I’m glad someone here appreciated me.”

“ _ What _ ,” the other two teens exclaimed, “You’re saying you found 250 year old remains of a shipwreck no one remembers? Where’s the proof?” 

The older man got up and ruffled Pacifica's hair, causing a victory roll to completely unfurl, “You kids have been spending too much time with my nephew. Not everything needs a concrete explanation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go defuse our doorbell, or else the next trick or treater is getting greeted with a brick!” 

Pacifica lunged back into the couch cushions, gnawing on a completely cold piece of pizza, “Well that was dumb as hell.” 

“Agreed.” 

“You guys,” Candy started, “I thought it was a really good story. I mean, it was certainly more entertaining than anything else we’ve watched tonight.” 

The blonde once again watched whatever movie was playing, suddenly finding no interest in it whatsoever. She grumbled, “I guess you’re right,” before pinching her nose and swallowing her pride. 

Halloweens at Northwest Manor were always large affairs, as was any possible occasion to throw a bangin’ party. The punch flowed, and the costumes people wore rivaled those found on a Hollywood lot. Pacifica never had much fun though. She had always secretly been jealous of all the kids released into the night to collect candy. She was too good to interact with such heathenry, her mother always reminded her. Besides, Hershey’s could never compare to the Belgian chocolate fountain that was always a Northwest staple. 

She thought back to all the Halloween bashes she had attended, and quickly came to the conclusion that she’d take this set up anyday. The friends, the crappy food, the even crappier movies? The rusticness of it all felt nice, more authentic. Pacifica knew that eventually the novelty of the modesty of her current life would wear out, but for now she was content to ride that high for as long as possible. 

And thus, attempting to salvage her victory rolls (it was futile. Stan Pines had an almost supernatural ability to destroy any hair style) she cleared her throat and reached out to the man, much to Candy’s delight and Gideon’s annoyance, “Grunkle Stan?” The man grunted his acknowledgment. 

“I’m sorry I insulted your costume earlier. Will you tell us another story?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really like Danse Macabre. It's one of the first things I learned to play on the stylophone. 
> 
> Ok so I decided that I am going to stop giving dates for when the next chapters are coming out. I never release them on time, and it honestly it just makes me feel sad and guilty, so I'm not doing it anymore for my own sanity. The most detailed I will get is that chapters will release roughly every two weeks, so yeah. 
> 
> Just bare with me. Between, work, school, the state of the world, and the impending holidays, there's a lot going on. The fact that this story is as popular as it is gives me a lot of joy, and I have no intention of stopping. We've got a good thing going here. 
> 
> So I hope you can be understanding. Your kind words really do mean a lot to me.


	16. The Dirt of Purgatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be like, like that, but I'm really happy with the way this chapter turned out, even if it took me a little longer to finish than I thought. But TBH, it's ok, because this is a Thanksgiving chapter, and if I had released it too early, that might be kind of weird. She a long one, so get ready to read lol.
> 
> Anyway, here's the goods. 
> 
> The playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=LNnLYKlITAKv09r_4tkwcw
> 
> Fun fact! I actually have a finished version (though it's subject to change) of the playlist that put together to help me organize the feel I want for this story. So every time I post a new chapter, I just move two songs from that one onto the playlist that's linked above. Anyway, I bring it up because I think it would be kind of funny to just link the one that's 'complete' and just let y'all speculate on what's going to happen based on my song choices. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Love hearing from you guys, so don't be afraid to shoot my kudos and comments! Enjoy, and have a Happy Thanksgiving if that's something you celebrate. If not, I hope you have a nice day too.
> 
> 12/12/20: Light edits. Spelling and grammar. A few added or changed lines.

Pacifica knew that poking and prodding the zit just below her lower lip would be of no benefit to the situation; in fact, it only served to inflame the surrounding skin more, causing the girl to hiss with each squeeze. But damn it! She wasn’t going to go to her absolutely zero plans looking like this! 

The offending mark wasn’t even that big, but its mere existence irritated Pacifica to no end. Between the chemical peels and the horse milk infused facial cream, a Northwest rarely (if ever) got any sort of blemish at all. Of course, the blonde was aware that her parents’ secret to eternal youth was less virgin blood and more so their good friend Botox injections, but still. Despite being skin suits tightly stretched over the abstract concepts of narcissism and strife, Preston and Priscilla sure were lookin’ hot! 

Pacifica snorted. Something about inner beauty or whatever. 

Speaking of the bangability of her parents (something the girl would **_never ACTUALLY_ **speak on), Pacifica often wondered about the nature her life-givers actually had to each other. Did they fuck? Well, the fact that she was alive to have such thoughts was proof that it had happened at least once…

But it wasn’t just about the sex. It was more about the intimacy. As far as she could remember, Pacifica rarely saw her parents touch, much less kiss. There was the occasional hand on arm, but that move was usually reserved for social functions. There was no hand-holding, no peck on the cheek, no ‘hi honey how was work’. No indication that two people were anything more than acquaintances or colleagues past the disgustingly lavish wedding bands that sat on their fingers. Once, Pacifica stumbled upon a photo album filled with exactly four pictures from the Northwests’ wedding day: two of her mother in her not-even-god-knows-how-expensive dress, one of them sealing the marriage with a kiss (so they _had_ done that at least once too), and a final one of the ‘happy’ couple standing on a set of marble steps outside, Priscilla’s hand classically placed within the crook of Preston’s arm. To say the teenager was stupefied to learn they were married in the Roadkill county courthouse would be the understatement of the century. 

Frankly, it was shocking to Pacifica that she was pretty sure neither of her parents were having an affair. She wouldn’t blame them. Gotta get love from somewhere, she supposed, and the girl felt it was fairly obvious as to why the two might not want to pursue a divorce. The thing was, it was difficult to discern whether or not her parents were actually happy. Priscilla’s pearly smile hid a multitude of sins, after all. 

Pacifica’s eyes flicked over her face in the bathroom mirror. The zit was still there, redder than ever. She grabbed a nearby tissue and resumed her work with renewed determination, mind wandering back to thoughts on love. 

Marriage...had always been in the cards for Pacifica, whether she liked it or not. And whether she liked it or not had yet to be seen. There had been so many assumptions made about her and her future, that when she stood back and actually debated yes or no, she found that she couldn’t pick either. Of course. She was afraid that any relationship she entered into was doomed to fail, as curses passed down generations of Northwests with a certainty only rivaled by the rising and setting of the sun. It didn’t matter if said curses were real, like the whole thing with the workers and the flood and the party (god what an ordeal), or just superstition, like the crushing dread that Pacifica Northwest was just another Northwest, locked into a fate from conception, purely based on the circumstances of her own birth. 

(On the other hand, there were one or two scribblings of Pacifica Elise Pines found in the margins of her German notebook. The words looked ok, if not a little off, though the girl couldn’t place why…)

Once more the blonde let out a bitter chuckle, wincing as the zit finally popped, a mini volcano of puss spilling out into the tissue. 

It wasn’t like she’d ever get the chance to write those words on a marriage certificate or anything. But hey; People have had worse fantasies. 

A light knock on the open bathroom door frame shook the girl from her thoughts. “Hey. We gotta go before they sell out, though I would be willing to fight someone in the parking lot for one of these suckers…,” Grunkle Stan said, scratching at his stubbled chin. Pacifica rolled her eyes, but finished wiping off her face and followed the man down stairs. 

10 minutes later, she stood in a strip mall parking lot, bundled in a borrowed parka and desperately rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm them back up. Stan strolled, tall and confident, through row after row of waxy, orange pumpkins. Why the stand wasn’t set up in an _actual pumpkin patch_ was unclear. 

“Pacifica, come here and tell me what you think of this one,” the man called to her, beckoning the girl through the weaving bristly vines. She stood next to him and glanced down at the gourd in question, unimpressed. She could see her breath come out in wisps in the cold November air, and in switching tactics, shoved her chilly fingers into the fleece lined pockets of the coat, trying hard not to think about what the decades old lint actually came from. 

“I don’t know Stan. They all seem alike to me. Don’t most people just get canned pump-”

“You watch your tongue, girl. The Pines family pumpkin pie recipe is a family secret that’s been closely guarded for over 100 years. If my mother, may she rest in peace, found out that I was letting you, someone outside the family in on it, then she’d have my head,” Stan hefted the pumpkin up onto his shoulder, carrying it over to the register, “and such a pie **_CANNOT_ **be made with some ‘pre-packaged pumpkin puree’.” He slammed the gourd down on the counter, rattling both the cashier and the change in the tip jar, “This beauty will do nicely, my good man.” 

Pacifica spent the drive back to the shack cringing at the sound of the pumpkin rolling around in the trunk of Stan’s car. “Stan, why are we even making an entire pie. Or an entire spread, for that matter. Isn’t it just going to be the two of us?” 

The man glanced at her as he whipped the jalopy around one of Gravity Falls’ famous winding curves, “Usually it’s just me. I make the pie and eat nothing else for a couple days. Just me and the pie: the purest expression of love.”

“Oh my god.” 

“And besides,” he continued, narrowly missing flattening the town’s mayor, “I invited some people to join us.” 

Pacifica narrowed her eyes, “Who…?”

Stan chuckled his rough chuckle, “You don’t always have to be so suspicious. It’s just Soos and Melody. And his abuelita of course, but she’s a given.” 

The blonde, suddenly very ticked off, stared wide-eyed into the side of the man’s face, “Wha? I thought I was just cooking for us. Now you’re telling me there’s going to be five of us for Thanksgiving,” she threw up her hands and whined, “Stan, you tasked me to do the shopping!”

“You need to get your ears checked, blondie? I just said abuelita is coming. You can _try_ to get some cooking done, but that woman is a whirlwind in the kitchen. A true wizard,” he reasoned, pulling up in front of the Mystery Shack. Pacifica grumbled from the passenger seat, still trying to warm up her hands. She knew it was always a risk to drive the beemer around, but why couldn’t they just drive the beemer?! Winter was quickly approaching and as wonderfully vintage Stan’s ride was, it didn’t have functioning heat. 

The older man watched the teen do anything to warm her pale fingers. “I have poor circulation,” she snapped, catching him staring.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Whatever.” 

Stan grunted, getting out of the car to heave the pumpkin into the house. Today was a day to cringe, as Pacifica did it again when he basically dropped the thing onto their kitchen table. The legs wobbled and she worried the whole thing would explode into a spray of splinters, but miraculously, the only wood held on for another day. He fished a crumpled up piece of paper out of his pocket and shoved it into Pacifica’s hands. 

Unfolding it, she squinted at his chicken scratch, making out a ‘turkey’ here or a ‘green beans’ there, “Is this our shopping list,” she asked. 

“Yup.”

The girl once again ran through the list, “You wrote beer on here. I can’t buy you that…”

“Just take my I.D.” The look on the girl’s face made him amend that statement, “Fine then, use your own fake I.D.”

“I don’t have one.” 

“Do you want one? It’ll only take me a couple minutes to make.”

So there Pacifica was, fiddling with one of her rings, tapping her foot as the gangly sales associate in Gravity Falls’ premiere liquor store scrutinized Stan’s handiwork. “There was no way this would work,” she thought to herself. First of all, Pacifica didn’t look 25, despite what it said on the forged piece of plastic currently sitting in presumably clammy hands. Secondly, and more damningly, everyone in Gravity Falls already knew who she was. It wasn’t like Pacifica Elise Northwest could just walk into this fine establishment and claim to be someone else. Or maybe she could, because for all the big game Stan talked, the fake license _did_ list her middle name as being Elsa. Pacifica _Elise_ Northwest? Never heard of her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cashier finally handed her back the I.D., and with a look saying ‘get out of here before I change my mind’, handed over the bottle of vodka and the case of hard cider. She felt his eyes laser into her back as she rushed out as quickly as possible. 

Next stop: grocery store. 

The scene at the local bargain mart was purely post-apocalyptic. Upon entering the glass sliding door, Pacifica was almost mowed down by Toby Determined doing a wheelie on the full-to-bursting shopping cart as a mob of townies chased him down in pursuit of stealing back the last bag of fresh cranberries. She should have guessed it would be like this; Thanksgiving _was_ tomorrow after all. That cranberry thing she could really understand though, and was considering entering into the fray herself. The citizens of Gravity Falls took their cranberries seriously, and if what she heard Bud Gleeful screech was true, only the canned slop was left. 

Still, there was plenty of other stuff on the list to get to. Rolling up her sleeves, Pacifica was ready to throw some haymakers if it meant getting the best turkey available. 

Every aisle was more treacherous than the last. Someone attempted a slide tackle to get her away from the frozen green beans. Blonde hair had almost been ripped out at the root when another lovely patron decided that Pacifica was taking too long to examine her bread options. The girl herself played dodgeball with jars of mayonnaise, and after climbing the pile of fallen warriors, grabbed the last container of nutmeg, quickly pocketing it before anyone noticed her prize. 

Finally, completely disheveled with the jacket falling off one shoulder and hair and makeup an absolute mess, Pacifica rounded the final turn into the meat section...and arrived just in time to see Manly Dan get suplexed into the tile floor. 

“Nope,” the girl said, barely even reacting to the intense display of violence, “gotta figure out something else.” 

The vibe in the miles long check out line was no less tense. Fists white-knuckled around the handles of their shopping carts, everyone was ready to snap if someone so much as looked at their haul. Pacifica palmed the holy bottle of nutmeg, sweating a little bit from the nerves. If someone so much as got a whiff, the mob would decide her fate. The blonde sighed and tried to focus on the bogus headlines of the impulse buy magazine rack, though the way Lazy Susan was breathing down her neck was making it really hard to concentrate on the phrase, ‘This Woman Found a Three-Tailed Beaver: Here’s What it Had to Say About the Death of Michael Jackson’. 

Finally, _finally_ , after four signs of the cross and as much of the prayer from It’s a Wonderful Life as she could remember, the cashier was giving her an understanding nod as the girl quickly flashed the container of nutmeg. Placing Stan’s credit card (which had taken much begging to acquire for the current mission) back into her wallet, the girl was out the sliding doors and drifting around the other reckless and desperate grocery store patrons. 

She came to a stop light, taking a moment to press the palms of her hands against her eyes. All the blonde could do was laugh over the premature Christmas music playing from the car radio. Gravity Falls, man. Gravity Falls. 

The rest of the day passed quickly, though Pacifica was sure that Stan didn’t appreciate the hours long phone call he endured with Soos’ abuelita. Everything had to be just so for her arrival the following day. The green beans should be thawed, the turkey shaped butters needed to be aligned with the Earth’s magnetic field, and the screech that broke through the receiver at the revelation that, no, the Mystery Shack did not have any formal doilies was legendary. Pacifica’s life was now separated into two distinct eras. Pre-doily, and post-doily. It was fine, though. Abuelita kept an emergency supply specifically for these dire situations. 

It was getting late, and Pacifica wiggled her bare toes where they were propped up on the coffee table, hands buried in a bowl of cheese balls, face illuminated by the ethereal glow of the television. Some garbage reality show about the wacky hijinks that went on in the Miami airport. In a way, shows like that were comforting; they reminded the girl that compared to these people, she still possessed some semblance of class. More so than the guy attempting to smuggle parakeets into the country, at least.

The soft pat of Stan’s approaching slippers alerted the girl’s ears, but she just could not tear her eyes away. “Sooo. I guess it’s time for you to take the next step towards becoming a bonafide member of the family,” the man said, rocking back on his heels.

“And who said I would want that,” she replied, humor evident in her voice.

“Spoken like a true Pines. Now get up, blondie, it’s pie makin’ time.”

Entering the shack’s small kitchen, Pacifica gasped at the Thanksgiving miracle laid out before her: the room was...semi-organized! Well, at least their work stations were. Normally, grime and empty or near-empty boxes were strewn around every surface. Now, though it looked like Stan had taken out every single one of their bowls, it was possible to touch something and not have your hand come away gray. 

She watched as Stan brought out the bottle of vodka, proudly cradling it in his arms like it was his only child. 

“I didn’t realize we needed to get liquored up to make a pumpkin pie…”

“It’s one of the ingredients, you spaz,” Stan said, furrowing his eyebrows, “though that wouldn’t be entirely out of character for my family…” 

“Vodka is one of the ingredients.”

The man nodded, growing more excited at the prospect of carrying out his favorite holiday tradition, “It goes in the crust. Makes it more flaky or something I don’t know. Do I look like a chemist?”

“Flakier, you say,” Pacifica questioned, scratching at the back of her head, “bet.”

In her time on Earth, Pacifica had had many pumpkin pies. Or rather, one pumpkin pie, many times, as the chefs at Northwest Manor had a recipe they liked to make, which her mother then appropriated and called it a family heirloom. Whenever the Northwests brought people over for their annual Thanksgiving Ball, (Pacifica swore those two would throw a party for Arbor Day is they could find the justification for it) Priscilla loved to whip out the ole’ ‘great-great-great-great-great-great-great Grandmother Northwest’s recipe for the quintessential holiday dessert’, along with some ever changing anecdote about how it was almost stolen by the wife of John Jacob Aster, or how Martha Washington begged and begged for the recipe, but was rebuffed each time.

The guests all laughed their haughty laughs, either at the novelty of even the Northwests’ _pies_ coming from prestige, or the fact that this story was obvious bullshit and they were laughing _at_ her, not _with_ her. Pacifica prayed to god that there was some justice and the other elites of the world saw right through her parents. She wanted it so bad. The reality of it was, unfortunately, probably the novelty thing. Rich people loved their novelties. 

The point was that Pacifica spent every Thanksgiving surrounded by people she barely knew (Preston and Priscilla included) eating food prepared by the great master chefs of the world for people who in no way shape or form deserved it. So yes, Gravity Falls’ former Gloria Vanderbilt knew her way around a pumpkin pie, and as she watched Stan blend up the guts of the pumpkin they had bought, turning it into a nice, thick paste, she realized that she never wanted to be within 100 feet of nutmeg ever again. 

As far as holidays went, Pacifica didn’t feel any particular way about Thanksgiving. She probably should, considering it was a day to recognize one’s blessing, and up until six months ago, people looked at her and assumed…

Her thoughts trailed off. 

Oh right. Six months. 

“Hey, Paz. You paying attention? This part with the heavy cream is crucial.” 

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan, I’m listening.” But her mind remained stuck to the passage of time. Six months. Six months. Half a year. 183 days, give or take a couple hours. How had that even happened? It seemed like just yesterday Pacifica sat painting her nails in the tower bedroom at Northwest Manor. It was April, and the girl selected a nice pastel pink to match the season. 

Then a month later, or was it merely a second, she was watching two girls make out on an Adirondack chair on someone’s back patio as fireworks fizzled around them and the warm beer settled heavy in her stomach. 

And then a minute later, or apparently six months, she stood in the kitchen of the home of the most notorious hustler in all of Oregon as said hustler made a lot of background noise with the hand mixer. There was the crack of an egg, and then the mixer abruptly stopped, followed by a string of swears and something about these ‘damn shards of egg shell getting everywhere in my goddamn batter’. 

The girl took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of old wood and yes, nutmeg. Pacifica Northwest didn’t _get_ Thanksgiving. Yeah, she didn’t really care about the holiday, but she also still didn’t _get_ it. Well, what wasn’t there to get? The family aspect, that’s what. As most everything in her life, it all came back to her family. “I really need to change that,” she thought to herself. 

She pinched the bridge of her sharp nose. Every Thanksgiving of her life had been this glorious celebration of food and drink, ignoring any and all deeper emotional connotations the holiday actually had. And even the joy of the culinary aspect had worn away after her mother insisted that an 11-year-old girl was getting much too old to take more than one scoop of each dish, much less seconds. Northwest women had a figure to uphold, of course. And that was _really_ disappointing for Pacifica to hear because Pacifica _really_ loved food. So there. An event that could easily be one of the blonde’s favorite holidays, systematically scrubbed of any enjoyment whatsoever. 

So why was it that even though tomorrow was set to be the best Thanksgiving of Pacifica’s life, the thought of pumpkin pie made her sick to her stomach? Well the six months of course! How time flies when you’re in the middle of a complete life upheaval. She felt her breathing pick up in tempo and her hand began cramping from the force of her clenching her fists so hard. The girl glanced at the clock: it was about nine at night. Right about now, Preston was probably sitting down with eight fingers of cognac, doing one final glance over the guest list for tomorrow’s party. The first one in 17 years where Pacifica would not be in attendance. She wondered how often they thought about her. Was it all the time? Was it not at all? Was every piece of memorabilia pertaining to their child chucked out and rotting in a landfill somewhere? Could they feel how often she thought about them?

“Pacifica!”

The teen whipped around at the sound of her full name. 

“Now I _know_ you’re not paying attention,” Stan chastised, hands working a bowl of pie crust dough, “Where’s your head at?” She kicked at the ground and avoided his eyes. “You can tell me. It’s just me! You’re Grunkle Stan!”

Pacifica sighed, recognizing that it would feel better to open up, even just a crack, “It’s been about six months since I got kicked out.” 

The kneading stopped, “Has it really been that long already? Geez…”

“Yeah, I know,” she chuckled, though the laugh was devoid of joy. The girl slumped down hard into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, a look of anguish on her face. She watched Stan craft the dessert. He wore a purple, glittery apron with the words ‘Bake It Till You Make It’ stitched on the front: undoubtedly a Mabel Pines exclusive. 

“Ya know, kid. I wish you’d stop feelin’ sorry for yourself. It was understandable at first, but like you said, it’s been six months. Sure, the life you have now is nothing like your old one, but let’s take stock of what ya got,” he wiped his flowery hands on the front of the apron and began ticking off fingers, “You are safe. You have a home. You have me. You have, like four friends, which is enough-”

“Gideon’s not my friend.”

“Yes he is.”

She sighed, leaning her chin on a balled fist, “Yes he is.” 

The man chucked her shoulder, “You act like you’re the only person in this house who’s ever experienced what you’re going through. I was disowned too, remember?”

Pacifica regarded him, wondering how after so many years of life kicking his ass, Stan could find it in himself to still be so vibrant. He grinned that goofy grin back at her, bushy eyebrows and all. Of course he would be happy; he was standing in the kitchen of his legacy, making a pie with a girl who was just like him, but still couldn’t realize it. 

“Grunkle Stan,” she started, voice small, “Do you miss your family?”

“My parents have been gone a long time, kid. I stopped missing them years ago. And I still hear from Shermie sometimes. I sure do see a lot of his vacation pictures on that Book of Faces or whatever. Why anyone would want to go to Florida for half the year is beyond me. That whole state is a damn hell hole.”

“What about Gru-...um what about Ford?”

Stan sighed, sitting in the chair next to her, “Everyday, kiddo. I get postcards from him sometimes, so at least I know the man’s still alive. I haven’t seen him in person for so long. Been trying to convince him to come home for Hanukkah, and it's been no every time, but I think he’s coming around,” he cleared his throat, “I told him you were staying with me. I think he wants to see how much I’m messin’ you up.”

“You’re not doing a worse job than my actual parents.”

Stan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking at the girl with a fond smile, “Do you miss them?”

“No. At least, I don’t think I do.”

“Good for you.” 

Pacifica drummed her fingers against her cheek, looking Stan in his warm coffee brown eyes, “Did I ever tell you that I saw my mother a couple months ago? It was the night of Woodstick. She didn’t see me, though.”

“Dipper told me.”

Pacifica laughed, “Wow blabbermouth much.” 

The older man shrugged his shoulders, “Is there a whole lot more to say on that?” 

She shook her head, a small smirk appearing on her tired face, “Should we get back to the pie?”

“Are you actually going to pay attention now?” 

The following morning (or early afternoon, knowing how Pacifica sleeps) the girl felt the warmth of the hand knit wool sweater as it fell onto her body. A deep emerald green, Pacifica had begged and begged and begged for Mabel to make her one without some quirky emblem emblazoned on the front. She wanted something she could wear to a formal dinner, the blonde had said. 

“What, you wouldn’t wear the llama one to a formal dinner,” the brunette had asked in response, but fulfilled her friend’s request for a more subdued sweater anyway. 

The fabric scratch a little at her skin, but a conspiracy had been forming in Pacifica’s mind for months now that maybe she was actually allergic to Stan’s laundry detergent, as redness cropped up on her forearms and the back of her neck whenever she so much as looked at an item of clothing. 

Still, the sweater was made with love, and Mabel’s handiwork only improved as the years went on. The cable knits in that particular piece were near flawless. Speak of the devil, the blonde’s phone chimed with a text from the jolly seamstress herself. 

Mabel: HAPPY THOTSGIVING 💦🦃🦃🦃🍴👅👅 TURKEY ISNT THE ONLY THING GETTING STUFFED 👌🏻👈🏻👅😩😩😩 YOURE ONE OF MY FAVORITE HOES 👭🍑💦❤️ ❤️IM SO THANKFUL TO HAVE A FILTHY SLUT LIKE U IN MY LIFE 🍆💦💦💦🍂 🍂🍂SEND THIS TO 🔟 OF THE NASTIEST 👄💃🏽 PILGRIMS YOU KNOW 🦃🦃😩😩😏😏 IF U GET THREE BACK THEN U REALLY A HOE 👌🏼👌 

Pacifica just laughed, shooting off a text responding that yes, she was glad the other girl was a part of her life. Lately, things between her and Mabel had mellowed. Pacifica still talked to Dipper more. In fact, the two friends had already exchanged their Thanksgiving pleasantries earlier that morning. But Mabel was mostly back to being her jovial self. She stopped pestering Pacifica with the details of her relationship with Grenda, and although the blonde still heard rumblings about it from either Dipper or Candy, she was grateful that her crush stopped shoving it down her throat. 

The two girls were back to being friends. It was a cautious friendship, since Pacifica was still pissed that Mabel never actually apologized for what she had done the previous Summer, but she thought back to what Stan had said the night before. She had to stop feeling so sorry for herself and just move on. 

The doorbell rang downstairs, followed by the opening and shutting of the front door. Satisfied with her look, Pacifica made her way downstairs, the sound of excited voices floating up through the old floors of the Mystery Shack. 

Touching down on the ground floor, the girl was almost bowled over by Soos’ abuelita fussing over her appearance. “Oh Ms. Northwest, your hair! The last time I saw it it was like wheat, but this color suits you much more,” the older woman kept brushing Pacifica’s bangs every which way, “I don’t know about these bangs though. They hang in front of your pretty eyes.” Abuelita paused for a moment, making eye contact with said crystal eyes before smacking the girl hard on the upper arm, “You! You are the one my Soos broke into that house for!”

“Abuelita! It wasn’t like that,” the young man cried, rushing over to try and get between his grandmother and Pacifica. 

“Well my Soos would never do something like that on his own!”

Pacifica tried to dodge the older woman’s attacks as Stan and Melody looked on in shock, trying and failing to hide their laughter. The blonde yelped as Abuelita roughly grabbed her chin, “If you want someone to blame! Blame Wendy! It was _her_ idea to break into Northwest Manor.”

Abuelita pursed her lips, but released Pacifica’s face, “I always knew that girl was a bad influence,” she shot a concerned look Soos’ way before turning into the kitchen and yelling, “Also you wear too much makeup,” over her shoulder like she hadn’t nearly ripped the teen limb from limb. 

Breathing heavily, the accused rubbed her sore jaw, staring wide-eyed at the giggling Melody and Stan. Soos, for his part, looked apologetic on behalf of his grandmother. 

A tan arm wrapped around her shoulder, “For what it’s worth, Pacifica, I think your makeup looks really nice.”

“Thank you, Melody. I spent a lot of time on it.”

The afternoon progressed mostly without incident, though it took a lot of convincing on Pacifica’s part to quell Abuelita’s concerns about the state of the Thanksgiving turkey. 

“Trust me, if you had been in that grocery store, you would’ve picked this too,” she had said. Abuelita grumbled something about ‘kids these days’ but let the issue drop, choosing instead to shoo everyone else out of the kitchen, lest they get in the way of her mashing of the potatoes. 

Pacifica walked into the living room. Soos and Stan were three rounds of hard cider deep and a verse into Turkey Lurkey Time, a song that didn’t strike the girl as something that would necessarily be in either man’s wheelhouse. And yet? There they were, belting it word for word as Melody watched on, not even bothering to hide her laughter. 

Upon noticing her entrance, the Soos’ girlfriend beckoned Pacifica over to sit next to her on the couch. 

“So have you finally settled into life at the Mystery Shack,” Melody asked.

Pacifica chuckled and rested her elbows on her knees, “I don’t think that’s a thing somebody could do.”

The other girl snorted, “That’s probably true. But still, how are you?”

The blonde thought on it, sucking her bottom lip, “I’m...fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Just fine. That’s all I can hope for right now.”

The men transitioned into Joy to the World, which...sure why not. Melody clinked her bottle of cider against Pacifica’s can of Pitt Cola, “Well then good for you. I’m glad you’re keeping realistic goals.” She turned to watch the way Stan’s fez teetered back and forth on his graying head, “I don’t know why people are always so wary of Stan. Well, I mean, I _do_ , but it’s not like you’re the first stray he’s taken in.”

“I’m not?”

“Girl, no way. I’m engaged to one of them.” Pacifica gaped at her as Melody clapped a hand over her mouth, turning red at what she just admitted, “Don’t say anything. We were going to announce it at dinner tonight.” 

The cogs continued turning in the teen’s head, “So you,” Melody nodded, “and Soos,” another nod. Pacifica switched to a whisper, “are engaged?”

“Yes,” the older girl whispered back, “He asked me a couple days ago. I said yes obviously.” The brunette reached into her shirt and pulled out a chain. On the chain was a beautiful sapphire ring that sparkled even in the dim light of the shack’s den. 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” and as quickly as it was brought out, the ring disappeared as Melody glanced around to make sure no one else had seen. 

Wow. Pacifica stared at Soos. He was still as much of a man-child as ever, fun-loving and a little dim. But the man was happy. Sitting in the musty living room, with carpet that could be considered an environmental hazard, he was surrounded by his entire world. Abelita, Stan, and Melody, and that was all Soos needed. His choice of the simple life suited him well, and Pacifica could put aside her jealousy at how he got himself together to be happy for the man. 

“Good for Soos,” she thought to herself, “He deserves it.”

Soon enough, Abuelita beckoned the group into the kitchen. 

“Mr. Pines, would you like to say grace,” the old woman said, grasping hands with the man.

“Oh uhh, sure,” he said, nervous sweat appearing on his forehead. He reached for Pacifica’s hand, squeezing her lithe fingers in his strong ones, “Ok ok. Dear God. Bless this mess. Amen. Bon appetit,” he stuttered out, immediately grabbing for the stuffing. Abuelita sent the man a withering glare. What was she really expecting from this crowd, though. 

The spread was glorious. ‘Turkey’, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffings, and every casserole imaginable covered the modest kitchen table, and Pacifica dug in, happy to take as much as she wanted and not be given a second glance. 

Later into the meal, Pacifica noticed Stan’s brow furrow as he shoveled another forkful of turkey into his mouth. “There’s something different about this turkey,” he said, mouth full. 

“What, you don’t like it? Abuelita and I worked really hard on it…”

“You did nothing, Ms. Northwest,” the old woman said across the table. 

Pacifica rolled her eyes, “Fine. _Abuelita_ worked really hard on it. I bought the damn thing though…”

The man recognized that he was probably treading into dangerous waters and quickly backtracked, “No, no! It’s really good actually-”

The blonde grinned and shot up from the table, thrilled that he had fallen right into her trap, “IT’S VEGAN,” she yelled, pointing an accusatory finger into his wrinkled cheek.

“ **WHAT??!!** ”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, eyes wide and wild, “THAT’S RIGHT! IT’S TOFU TURKEY! TOFURKEY!”

Soos laughed as he sipped gravy out of a shot glass, “Oooo she got you good Mr. Pines.”

Stan continued to splutter, “Bu-but, _you’re not even vegan_???”

“Yeah, I know that, obviously,” Pacifica smirked, striking a power pose with arms crossed over her chest, “Trust me. If you had been at that grocery store, you would understand.” She shuddered, “The things I’ve seen.” 

Stan glanced around the table, mouth still agape, “I-I-I, alright blondie, you got me good. I guess you have been paying attention to your old man.”

The teen’s grin grew ear-splitting, “I sure am.” 

From her left, Melody clinked a fork on her glass of water and stood up. She took Soos’ meaty paw in hers, the two of them sporting glowing grins. “So, in the spirit of celebration, Soos and I have an announcement to make. As of a couple days ago,” she once again reached into her shirt to pull out the ring, “We are...engaged!”

Pacifica didn’t even have to feign shock as she leaped across the table to ensure that the news didn’t just put Abuelita into cardiac arrest. 

Later that night, after what seemed like hours of goodbyes, congrats to the happy couple, and a metric ton of leftovers packed away, Stan beckoned Pacifica to follow him back into the kitchen. A mountain of dishes sat in the sink, but that was an issue for another day. 

She sat down and picked a piece of dried green bean casserole off the tablecloth. Stan sat across from her, watching intently with pride and interest, "So I couldn't help but notice you only had a couple bites of the Pines Family Certified Classic."

"Well, I guess pumpkin pie's just never been my favorite," the girl settled on, not wanting to get into the deeper psychology of her distaste for the desert, "Yours is good. Don't get me wrong. It's _really_ good, actually," she shrugged, "Just personal preference I guess. And I'm glad I know how to make it now."

Stan nodded in understanding, letting the comfortable silence hang between them. Pacifica was glad he wasn't upset about her lukewarm reception of the pie. 

“I got you something,” he said, causing Pacifica to blanch and start the terror sweats, 

“Oh god. I didn’t realize that Thanksgiving was a gift-giving holiday. That wasn’t how we did it in my family. I don’t have anything for,” his raised hand cut her off, “...you…”

“It’s not. I just wanted to get you something. Consider it a six month freedom anniversary gift,” he plopped a long, thin box on the table. It was gift wrapped. Not well, but an effort was made. “Well don’t just stare, kid. Open it.”

Pacifica sucked her teeth and toyed with the edges of the box, finally working up the courage to rip off the wrapping. She took the lid off to reveal...a pair of dark brown leather gloves. She gasped, running her fingers over the fabric’s smooth surface. The insides were lined with, “Oh my god are these lined with cashmere?!”

Stan nodded and tapped a nervous finger on the hard wood of the table, “Yeah. And I know it’s probably nowhere near the level of luxury as you’re used to, but they’re real leather too and I just,” she shrugged, taking off the fez and fiddling nervously with the tassel on top, “I know your hands get cold.” 

“When did you even buy these? I told you about my poor circulation _yesterday_ …”

The man cleared his throat, “Well I’ve noticed how you’re always trying to warm your hands before, but I bought those yesterday. You were passed out on the couch because doing even one simple task apparently knocks you right out, so I ran to the mall and got you some gloves.”

“I mean, I _am_ constantly exhausted,” the blonde breathed out, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Try them on.” 

She did, feeling the cashmere slide around her chilled fingers, warming them up instantly and fitting like a glove. A grin once again split her face, “I hope you got a good deal. Black Friday isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Kid, these days, Black Friday lasts all we-,” but his response was cut off by a teen girl flying across the table to give him a crushing hug, one he returned immediately. 

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Paz. I’m here for you. Whatever you need, just say the word.” They stayed like that for a second, basking in the joy of family. This was the Pines’ household, though, and the tender moment was broken by Stan rushing out, “Dishwasher says what.”

“What?”

“Ha-HAH,” the man laughed, shoving Pacifica towards the sink where she traded her brand new gloves in for some rubber ones. 

“ **_Goddammit_ **.” 

The following day, Pacifica hit the world early, though not in an attempt to beat the lines forming from all entrances to the mall. God no. Northwests do _not_ Black Friday shop. 

Instead, Pacifica slipped on her gloves and a jacket, and took Waddles out for a stroll on the shores of Lake Gravity Falls. The weather was nippy, and the air smelt of the impending first snow of the season. Frost bit the blades of long grass that sprung up on the water line, and from what the blonde could tell, the lake itself was already beginning to ice over. 

She sat down on the shore, feeling the small, smooth pebbles under hand, and always made sure the pig was always within earshot. She watched him trod off, probably to go sniff some roadkill. He looked dashing in his custom made sweater, and Pacifica quickly snapped a picture of her porcine pal, sending it off to the twins. Almost immediately her phone was flooded with a deluge of heart emojis from Mabel Pines, gushing over the pig as well as her own handiwork. 

Pacifica snorted and placed her phone back into her pocket, closing her eyes to feel the cool November wind and smell the lake water. Fishing season had long since ended, but just her presence at the water stirred up youthful memories from the back of her brain. 

Once or twice, when Pacifica was just a wee little girl, Preston Northwest took his daughter fishing on the shores of Lake Gravity Falls. She couldn’t have been more than five, but the thoughts still remained like they just happened yesterday. 

“The fishing here is adequate,” her father had said, scruffing up her nest of dirty blonde hair. She had not yet begun dyeing it, but that change would come soon enough. “Someday I’ll take you out on the ocean where we can catch fish for real. Catch a swordfish or something.” He grinned down at his daughter, mustache not yet beginning to turn gray. She grinned back, not yet aware that this man was no idol. 

A little crab had come up and pinched her little tow, causing the tyke to scream in such a hellish way that only tykes do. Waving off the approaching hoard of servants, Preston, concern clear in his eyes, knelt down, and taking her little cannoli foot in his strong hands, pressed a gentle kiss to the wound, reassuring the girl that everything would be alright. 

Then he handed her off to the nanny, who dressed the wound with a Hello Kitty bandaid. The big toe on 17-year-old Pacifica’s right foot twitched at the memory of it all, scar still evident after all those years. 

Years later, on one of the Northwest Family’s famous gallivants around the world, they were off the coast of Sicily or something, as her parents had always loved Italy more than her, a roughly 13-year-old bleached blonde girl watched bored as her father cast line after line into the water, growing more frustrated each time. “The fish just weren’t biting, he reasoned, “It wasn’t his fault,” an explanation that one could probably find credible until in a glittering display of strength, a swordfish burst from the water in all it’s squirming and shimmering majesty, only to quickly be reeled onto the boat by a butler that Pacifica unfortunately could not remember the name of. 

Ire crossed Preston’s face for only a split second before he recovered, ripping the still flailing fish out of the other man’s hands, claiming the prize for himself as a swarm of paparazzi (because of course Priscilla would invite the paps onto the boat with them) swarmed her father and obscured him from view, all in an effort to photographically document another notch in Preston Northwest’s belt of triumphs. Rich, good-looking, a savvy businessman, **_and_ **a master angler. The only thing left for the man to do was kill God himself. 

Later, Pacifica overheard the sounds of the crew butchering the fish, all under the ‘expert’ direction of her father. Each harsh chop of the butchering knife tied her stomach another knot. When they emerged from the cabin, filets in tow, Preston was bleeding from a cut right behind his ear. 

“Daddy, what happened? You’re bleeding,” she had asked, running to him, but stopping dead when she noticed all the fish guts he was covered in. 

Preston only chuckled and once again reached a hand to muss up his daughter’s hair, which was batted away in favor of not being forced to pick flesh out of her golden locks. “Tis’ but a scratch, my dear. The bugger got one good swipe in, but not to worry. He is merely our dinner now.” 

The Pacifica that sat on the shore was thankful that she no longer had to hide her satisfaction that the fish had cut her father open. The man deserved it and so much more. 

Something wet fell upon her hand, and the girl was shaken from her thoughts as Waddles rubbed up against her side. She looked down to see the pig had brought her a present; she was being showered in them of late. Resting next to her gloved fingers sat a gooey looking baseball, tinged yellow and covered with algae.

“Thank you, Waddles,” she scratched in between the porker’s ears, “I’ll cherish this to my last breath.” The wind picked up and the girl clutched at her beanie to stop it from blowing away. She pocketed the baseball and hoisted herself up onto her feet. Selecting a stone, she cast it off into the water. It skipped once before plunging deep under the waves. 

“I’ll bet Stan is pretty good at skipping stone,” she muttered, “I’ll bet that Stan is good at a lot of things, not all of them crimes.” 

The walk back through Gravity Falls was spent in quiet contemplation. The roads were clear, most likely due to the fact that everyone was spending the day duking it out over discounted televisions that weren’t even that good of deals. 

Of all the childhood memories she had to choose from, the fish stories weren’t ones she remembered most often. Comparatively, her life had just been a lot more exciting than that. Recently though, Pacifica had been doing a lot of reminiscing on her childhood, wondering what the 13-year-old her would think of the version that was 17. Luckily, she thought the younger girl would be jealous of her now, if only subconsciously. 

A younger her would never admit it, but tween Pacifica had always yearned to be a little wild. Not to go fully feral, but maybe just to grow a backbone or two. 

She thought once again about Stan telling her to stop the pity party. 

“You know they say that the best way to live is to be someone that you would have looked up to a decade ago,” whispered the Greek chorus.

“The only people I looked up to at seven were my father and Anna Wintour,” the blonde muttered back. 

“Ok, so look to the future. In 10 years, you will be 27-”

“God, don’t remind me.”

The harmonies sounded from the back of the brain, some kind of musical laughter, “Aging, amirite ladies? Seriously though. How do you want the 27-year-old you to look back on now?” 

Suddenly, it dawned on Pacifica. She stopped in her tracks, allowing Waddles to trot along in front of her. She was in the middle of something miraculous, a metamorphosis of sorts. If she made it out of these growing pains alive, then it suddenly became impossible to predict where she would even be in 10 years. Which was a good thing! It meant that the possibilities were endless and the world would be hers to reap. 

Pacifica fished the baseball out of her coat pocket. She threw it hard and watched as the pig dashed off after it’s toy. Suddenly giddy, her trembling hands pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her best friend. 

“Hey can we FaceTime soon? I think I just had a breakthrough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that that copy pasta shows up on AO3. I was really worried the site couldn't handle emojis or something. BTW, if it doesn't show up for you, can you let me know? I'm talking about the message Mabel sends Pacifica on Thanksgiving. 
> 
> Like I said on the previous chapter, I'm not giving specific release dates anymore, so just expect the next update in roughly 2 weeks. 
> 
> Shoot me a message on tumblr, if y'all are so inclined. We could talk about anything. 
> 
> One last thing: Do you call Mabel x Pacifica 'Mabifica' or 'Mabcifica'. I personally prefer 'Mabifica' because I think the other one is kind of hard to say, but that's just curious because I've looked at both tage on tumblr. Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Until next time, my friends.


	17. The Same Stock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not from Seattle. If you are, and I'm like totally off base, please tell me. 
> 
> Here's the next chapter! Exactly a month after the last one. I didn't really intend for this to take so long, but I've spent pretty much the last month doing finals stuff, and I'm glad I didn't try to pile this on too because that would have just been too much. But I passed all my classes! So to celebrate here's chapter 17, or 'Kate Gets Caught Up With the Story: Part 1'. 
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=nysuVsiuSFeh4j77aYyS4Q
> 
> And my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave comment and kudos!

“You know, Pacifica, you could always go to the local community college. Get some gen eds out of the way, really figure things out.” 

Pacifica gaped at the good doctor. He should feel lucky that the two were separated by the large wooden desk because the blonde yearned to take his desk calendar and shove it up the man’s ass for such an insolent comment. Not that there was...anything inherently wrong with community college. But community college? For a Northwest? Heresy!

“Um, no,” she responded, terse, “I was thinking more along the lines of The Wharton School.” 

Dr. Blumahngrup drew his lips into a thin line, the vein becoming more prominent in his neck in that way it did whenever he and Pacifica spoke. Since their first acquaintance during homecoming week, the two held meetings a handful of times. Each time the counselor attempted to encourage the girl to change her career goals, and though she would never admit it to his face, he _was_ wearing her down. The problem lied in that he hadn’t yet offered up a good plan. 

The man folded his hands, “Kent State has a good photography program.”

“ _Me_ ? Live in _Ohio_? Gross.”

“I’m from Akron-”

“Don’t care. Next.” 

Blumahngrup let out a tense breath from his button nose, pushing the rimless glasses further up its bridge, “There’s always CalArts-”

Pacifica cut in again, “What aren’t you getting, doc? I don’t want to go to art school. If I’m going to pursue photography as a career, it has to be somewhere that also has a good business program, so in case I chicken out, I can always fall back on economics or something. Besides. I have other interests too...”

“Such as,” the doctor said, latching onto any detail that could assist him in finally resolving the stuck-up girl’s expectations.

“Oh well, golf obviously,” Pacifica replied, suddenly sheepish, “And I’m pretty ok at German I guess.”

“German...ok I can work with that,” he turned back to his computer, typing up a storm as he browsed his vast catalog of schools. After a couple of seconds where the only sounds were the whoosh of the vents and the clacking of the keyboard, the man paused, blinked, and turned back across the desk. “Have you ever been to Seattle,” he asked, hope in his blue eyes. 

“I have not. Why, what’s in Seattle?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, but it was eventually broken by the good doctor rummaging around in his desk through every pamphlet and leaflet in his possession. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this place sooner,” he finally passed an information packet across the table, printed in deep greens, “Public, four years, tons of programs. German, girl’s golf, a good business school, and most importantly, one of the best photography programs in the Pacific Northwest.” 

Pacifica picked up the packet. It had a good weight to it; lots of knowledge to be found inside, “Emerald City University,” she furrowed her manicured brows, “tell me about it.”

Blumahngrup perked up at her interest, “Well, it’s in the Belltown neighborhood, very young, very vibrant. Like I said they have a very varied selection of courses to choose from,” he shrugs, “I don’t know. I just think it would be a good fit for you.”

The girl admired the fancy letterhead: Emerald City University, Seattle Washington; _In Scientia non est Misericordia_ , “Sooo...why didn’t you tell me about this school before?”

It was the doctor’s turn to be bashful, “Well, it’s only about three hours away. I kinda figured you would want to get out of the area because well, ya know.”

Pacifica hummed, eyes still scanning over the inviting phrases extolling the school’s virtues, “Well, as I said, I’ve never been to Seattle…”

“Maybe you should.”

Later that night, Pacifica watched a golf ball fly over the treetops of the forest surrounding Gravity Falls. The familiar weight of the driver rested in her hands. There was almost no wind that night, just enough cold breeze to warrant a coat. A perfect opportunity to practice her form, really. 

“Hey. Kid,” a gruff voice called from behind her. The wind rustled, sending loose hairs from her ponytail into her face. 

“Stan, I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

The man jogged into her vision, brandishing a familiar green informational packet, “I know I know. You got the big game and everything in a couple days-”

“It’s called an ‘open’,” she muttered. If Pacifica had told him once, she’d told him a thousand times.

“But I noticed this stuff,” he waved the pack of papers, “lying on the kitchen table. Seattle huh? Well, there isn’t a city in the world that matches your disposition better-”

“ _HEY-_ ”

His loud laugh cut her off, “I’m jokin’, blondie. You know that,” Stan cleared his throat, watching as the girl teed up another golf ball, “But Emerald City University is a good school, from what I’ve heard.” The whap of her club struck the evening air and the two of them watched the ball sail off into the aether. “Are you going to apply?”

Pacifica turned to him, leaning against her bag of clubs, “I’m thinkin’ about it.” 

The con-man nodded. A moment’s silence passed between them; the faraway braw of a moose echoed across the forest. “You ever been to Seattle,” he finally asked.

Pacifica shook her head, “I haven’t really traveled domestically much, remember?”

“Right, right.” A slight breeze rushed by, rustling the tassel on the top of his hat, “It’s a cool town. Whole place smells like the ocean, but I’m sure you’d get used to it.”

The blonde turned back to the tee, placing another ball and winding up another shot, “Like I said,” she said on the backswing before bringing the driver back around with a grunt, “I’m just thinkin’ about it.” 

Stan’s low whistle brought a bashful smile to her face as the two of them watched the ball disappear into the trees, “Well, _I_ was thinkin’, since we had so much fun at Crater Lake, maybe Seattle could be our next stop.” 

“Stan, what-”

“Kid, I’m trying to say I think we... _er_ _you_ , should take a tour of Emerald City. Get a feel for the campus, learn more about their programs,” he shrugged, “The future’s comin’ fast, kid. I’m pretty sure I heard Dipper got his applications submitted in September, the little brownnoser.”

Pacifica thought about it. The man was right; she’d be graduating before she knew it, and if community college was out of the question, then she needed to get a move on with her college search. She dropped her club back into the beg and picked the tee up from the ground, satisfied with the amount of practice she’d had for the day. 

“I mean I guess so,” she said, shouldering her bag of clubs, “Don’t parents usually go on those too?” 

“We-well, yeah maybe,” he stuttered, “But I don’t have to if you don’t want me there. I’m sure there’s plenty of stupid tourists near the gum wall I can sucker out of a couple bucks. Just somethin’ to pass the time, ya know?” 

“Stan,” she interrupted, holding up a gloved hand, “I want you there, ok?”

The man seemed to relax and his shoulders receded into their natural position, “Ok.”

The next morning, Pacifica and Candy chatted during their daily drive to school. Since she began picking the girl up every day, the blonde found that it was nice to have someone to talk to in the mornings before school, if for no other reason that Candy was a skilled DJ, and the ride to the high school was always filled with bangers. 

“So,” Pacifica started. The radio blared with some indie band she didn’t recognize. Their experience at Woodstick hadn’t exactly broadened the blonde’s sonic mind, but Candy on the other hand ate that twee shit right up. Secretly, Pacifica was kinda into that vibe; it made her feel like she was the protagonist in a weird coming-of-age movie. She’d never admit to that though. “Have you given college any thought?”

“What do you mean,” Candy responded, eyebrows scrunched together as she scrolled through her phone, queuing up the next song. 

The taller girl shifted in the driver’s seat, “What do you mean what do I mean? Have you decided where you’re going to apply yet? Taken any college tours?”

“Paz,” laughed Candy, disbelief seeping into her face, “I’m going to Carnegie Mellon. Their computer engineering program is fantastic. Didn’t I tell you? I got accepted back in October.”

“We weren’t speaking for most of October.”

“Oh right.” Two pairs of eyes looked anywhere but at each other. 

The dark-haired girl recovered her thought, “Wait are you saying you haven’t started your applications yet? Girl.” 

“Actually Stan and I are going up to Seattle this weekend to tour-”

“ _Wait you haven’t even decided_ **_where_ ** _you’re applying_?”

Much more of this and Pacifica might lose control of the car, “Hey wait a minute! I only decided what I might want to major in, like, a week ago,” she defended, just continuing to dig the hole deeper. Candy scream-laughed into her hands. The indie-folk still twanged from the car radio.

“Pacifica,” Candy wheezed out between screeches, “What have you been doing this whole semester?” 

The blonde gaped, struggling for words that would be an adequate explanation, “Um, wallowing,” her voice dropped to a humiliated whisper, “thinking about studying business…”

“ **_Business?!_ **” At this point Candy had reached the ‘silent wheeze’ portion of her delight, “It’s like you’re not even trying to be happy.” 

“ **_Candyyyy_ **,” whined Pacifica. 

Her passenger finally caught her breath and wiped tears of mirth that threatened to fall from her sparkling eyes, “Ok, ok. Sorry. You said you’re going on a college tour, right? Where?” 

“Emerald City University...”

“Really. I would have thought you’d spring for the art sch-”

“Who am I, Mabel,” Pacifica snapped, “I’m a renaissance man. I have interests outside photography.”

“Yeah, business evidently.”

She threw up her hands as the other girl continued to snicker. The high school finally came into view, the relief that she could finally get on with her day awashed the former heiress. She pulled into her usual space, happy that no pleb had attempted to steal it. It looked like that incident with the hand-crafted magazine cut out threat was enough to curtail any further insurrections against her. 

“Get out of my car.” 

“Great see you in econ,” Candy chimed, joyful smile not leaving her face, “And Pacifica, for what it’s worth, I was just givin’ you a hard time. I think Emerald City would be a good fit for you. But seriously!”

“Candy…”

“You need to get a move on with those applications!”

“Leave!”

“Or you could go to the community college. With Grenda!”

“I said go!”

Later that day, their AP Economics professor went on and on about the different types of stocks and bonds. Pacifica and Candy chatted in the back row, not even bothering to whisper. 

“So Grenda’s really going to Abernethy,” Pacifica asked. She scribbled the words ‘blue chip’ into her notebook, underlining it several times to at least keep up the appearance of work, “I thought only burnouts went to community college.”

Candy perked up, “Aww Pacifica. That implies that you don’t think Grenda is a burnout. You really _are_ reforming.” Before the blonde could growl out a response, her friend continued on, “And no, not only burnouts go to community college. Abernethy is a good school. Grenda just wants to save some money and get the gen eds out of the way before she decides what she wants to do with the rest of her life.” 

“Why don’t you go to community college then?” 

“Well I already know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’ll major in computer engineering, then get picked up by a major video game studio, and be an industry hero all before 25,” Candy blushed at the other girl’s gape, “or something along those lines at least.” 

The cogs in Pacifica’s mind continued to turn, “...but I could save money by going to community college right?” 

It was true; her whole life the girl pictured herself at Yale or UPenn, or any of the Ivys, really. Cornell probably, as it was her father’s alma mater, and the man still donated a hefty sum each year, to the point where they were considering renaming the business school after him. She’d be the college’s prize student, all due to the circumstances of her birth. 

The girl cringed. Maybe not Cornell. It was where her parents met, though it would be more accurate to say they met in Ithaca. Her mother had a friend who went to Cornell, and in visiting this friend, met Preston Northwest, and the rest was history. The shameful fact that Priscilla was visiting from _Syracuse University_ of all places (even the name left a bitter taste in the mouth. A _non-Ivy. How humiliating_ ) was scrubbed clean from her identity. Even the bachelor’s in education was hidden away in the bottom of a drawer somewhere in the manor. Pacifica hoped that her mother was at least a little bit proud of her accomplishment, if not miffed that she couldn’t use it as a trophy wife. 

Pacifica pictured Priscilla teaching at the local elementary school. The bitter taste immediately returned. 

But back to the issue of money! And the fact that she had none! All this talk of college was rendered mute if she could barely afford to pay the $50 application fee required by Emerald City. 

“Well, yeah,” Candy replied, “But you shouldn’t choose to go somewhere on the monetary issue alone. Just do the FAFSA. Apply for scholarships. You’re smart enough; I’m sure you could get some money.”

The blonde’s face twisted into a sour face, “My parents said never to acc-”

“Fuck those guys,” the dark haired girl shouted a little too loud. Several of their classmates glanced over, warning the two girls to not get too rambunctious, lest they disrupt the teacher and ruin it for the rest of the class. “Sorry,” muttered Candy, “Seriously, Paz, you’ve got options.” 

The school day went on, and soon Pacifica found herself sitting across from Candy and Grenda at one of the cafeteria lunch tables. A Stan Pines special laid out before her, the blonde debated starting with the ham and cheese sandwich or going straight for dessert: a bag of gummy cryptids nicked from the gift shop of the Mystery Shack. Though she supposed it wasn’t stealing if one owned the merchandise in the first place…

She popped a lemon-flavored shrunken head into her mouth and looked back up at her companions, who were in a deep and heated discussion about the latest episode of Tiger Fist. Pacifica certainly didn’t watch it herself, and wasn’t sure how much nuance was present in a show like that, but nonetheless, being able to sit at lunch with a friend and an...acquaintance/enemy/coworker was good enough. Though she and Grenda still didn’t really get along, Candy acted as a completely willing intermediary, and the tension between the two girls began to cool, if only enough that they could stand to be in the same room as one another. A loud, dirty, sweat-smelling room in what was quite possibly the weirdest high school in all the Pacific Northwest, but perhaps it was the beginning of a beautiful mutual tolerance. 

The blonde sensed a lull in the conversation before her, “So Grenda, you’re going to Abernethy, right?”

“Yeah,” grunted the brunette, red in the face from yelling at Candy about the detailed mechanics that graced the tiger with his muscular human arm, “Takin’ some time to figure out what I wanna do,” her beady eyes narrowed, “Why...where are you going?”

Pacifica shrugged, “I dunno. That’s why I’m asking. Tryin’ to get a feel for all my options.” She squished a gummy thigh-clops between her thumb and forefinger and stared deep into Grenda’s eyes. “You’re not...worried? About how college might affect your relationship with Mabel,” she asked, tone kept masterfully even. 

While Candy blanched and silently pleaded for Pacifica not to start shit, the bigger girl flared a gorgeous shade of crimson, muscles bulging in her neck and from under the wrestling t-shirt stretched tight across her broad chest. The blonde’s cerulean eyes widened as she remembered that Grenda could (and would if pushed) snap her like a twig. And Pacifica was pushing. 

“ **_NO_ ** ,” came the sound from Grenda’s throat, somewhere between a yelp and the scream of someone who’d just ingested an entire bush of poison ivy, “ **_I’m not worried! Why, did Mabel say something to you_ **?” 

“Grenda...you know Mabel doesn’t tell me things…” 

“ **_Don’t lie. I know you have a...a...THING for her. Just admit it.”_ **

Why in god’s name did she do it?

“Ok, I’ll admit it. I have a crush on Mabel Pines,” Pacifica drawled, sarcasm laced thick in her tone. The best way to lie is to tell the truth in a manner no one would believe. 

Candy groaned and tried to hide within the slimy pizza offered up by the cafeteria that day, but it was hard to ignore how the sheer force of Grenda slamming her fists on the table caused the cheese to slide right off the crust. 

What the fuck possessed her to carry on?

“...but why should that matter? She’s dating you, not me, right?” Pacifica couldn’t help the sly smirk that spread across her face as the wrestler’s shoulders spasmed as they rose up to her ears. 

And still she persisted. 

“...I mean,” the smirk had grown into a full-fledged toothy grin as hellfire burned in both girls’ eyes, “How could one _not_ have the hots for Mabel Pines. Kind, considerate, creative, with a bangin’ bod-” Suddenly, cherry coke dripped from the tips of her bangs, running rivulets down her face and shirt, a flannel of Dipper’s she had dug out from the closet in an act of sleepy and rushed laziness. Though sticky cola clouded her visions, Pacifica was still about to make out as well as hear Grenda stomp away, flipping an innocent bystander’s lunch tray out of his hands as she exited the cafeteria. 

Candy’s head flicked back and forth between the damp blonde and the cafeteria exit, worried that perhaps the larger girl would come back to beat on Pacifica for real. “So,” the spectacled girl started, sounding more exhausted than anything else, “How long have you been planning that one?” 

Pacifica sucked the sickly sweetness from her fingers, not even bothering to get up to wash off. The people around them stared and backed away, fearing a nuclear meltdown from Gravity Falls’ finest. She was only a bit sorry to disappoint them. “Oh, it’s been building for a while,” she said, picking up the last of her cryptid gummies: grape-flavored grizzly-corn, her favorite, “But I suppose I didn’t have the necessary material until our conversation in the car this morning. Sooo...thanks for that.” 

“You’re not welcome.” 

Later that night, Pacifica laid on her stomach, wrinkling the jersey sheets under her. In the middle of one of their fireside chats, the blonde couldn’t help but smile at Dipper’s scowl that glowered at her in the computer monitor. “Can’t you go more than two months without stirring up shit?” 

She filed her already pristine nails, “Evidently not, but don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my dad.” 

“Thank god for that! The amount of money you got as an allowance was probably dependent on how many people you could seriously offend within a week!”

“ _Hey_ , that’s not true,” Pacifica retorted, “It was factored into my end of year bonus.” Her grin widened as she watched her friend purse his lips to avoid cracking a smile. Stern Dipper, indeed, though the girl doubted anyone would take serious criticism from someone currently doing duck lips. 

She examined her nails, satisfied with their shape. A bottle of blush-pink nail polish was cracked open, filling the air with its signature chemical smell, “How’d you even find out,” she cut him off before Dipper could even get a word out, “Wait let me guess! Candy to Mabel to you…” 

“Well, more like Candy told Mabel who confirmed it with her girlfriend before telling me, but yeah. Essentially what you said.” 

“And what exactly did Mabel say?”

“Pacifica…”

It was the girl’s turn to scowl, “Oh whatever. I just want to make sure you Californians aren’t spreading lies about me.” 

“Well,” Dipper said, still looking unconvinced, “She basically said that you were a massive bitch to Grenda for no reason.” 

“Sounds about right, yeah.”

“ _Pacifica_.” 

The blonde growled deep in her chest, “Why do you even care,” she spat, “It’s not like you even _like_ Grenda.” 

The boy wiped a hand over his tired face, “It’s not about that. It’s about Mabel-”

“It’s always about Mabel, isn’t it. Mabel, Mabel, Mabel, that’s all I hear,” Pacifica dropped her voice to mock Dipper. Or was she mocking Stan. Or was she mocking Soos. The uncertainty only served to strengthen her point, “ _Oh you guys. We can’t do that. It would make Mabel unhappy. Nooo Mabel wouldn’t like that_.” 

Things grew tense across the FaceTime connection, “Don’t you want Mabel to be happy?”

“Guess what Dipper! Mabel isn’t happy, but she only has herself to blame!” 

“Well you’re not helping!”

The two friends were practically screaming at this point, “It’s not my job to! I’m not Mabel’s keeper! I’m not her guardian angel! I’m tired of everyone walking on eggshells around her. Mabel takes and she takes and she takes-” 

“You _do_ know you’re talking about my twin-”

“Well, do _you_ know that your _twin_ was ready to throw it all away months-,” Pacifica’s eyes widened in fear at the direction she was steering the conversation. She clicked her jaw closed, “Forget I said that.” 

The ire on Dipper’s face grew into angry confusion, “No, Paz, what are you talking about?” 

She focused on the way the brush smirked around her thumbnail, leaving gorgeous pink in its wake. Pink stood for grace, a virtue that suddenly failed the usually collected girl. Pacifica shook her head, wincing as the tips of her bangs poked her in the eye. She needed a haircut, but after Stan offered to do it with nothing but a bowl and a pair of kitchen shears, the blonde recognized that she'd have to get it done elsewhere. 

“Paz come on are you really not going to tell me?” 

“Mabeltriedtokissme,” she mumbled out, allowing all the letters and syllables bleed together. 

“What was that?” 

“I said,” spoke Pacifica, taking a fortifying breathe through her sloping nose, “Mabel. Tried. To kiss me.” 

“What do you mean _tried_?” 

Pacifica balked, “ _Tried_ is the part you focus on? Not ‘kiss me’?” A couple of beats of stunned silence passed. Dipper deserved to know, and the girl knew she’d feel better once she told him. “It was the day after the hoedown. You remember how Mabel was upset about something, right?” He nodded at her to continue, “Well, it turns out that what she was upset about was that I slept with that girl from the party...instead of her...I guess. So we fought, and in the middle of it, she tried to kiss me.” 

“Paz,” Dipper said, voice notably softer, “What do you mean tried?” 

Tears threatened the corners of her eyes and Pacifica huddled together, arms encircling her knees as they were pulled up to her chest, still wearing the flannel shirt that belonged to her best friend. “I pushed her away, and then she wanted me to tell her to break up with Grenda, and I said I wouldn’t do it. How could Mabel do that to me? It’s not fair,” she wailed. 

“Yeah...that’s kinda fucked up…” 

“Yeah, it is. And now you’re out here trying to tell me I’m making Mabel unhappy, when I’ve known she’s been unhappy since at least August, and in a twisted way I feel like it’s my fault. It makes me feel sick.” Fat tears fell openly now, streaming black rivers down her cheeks where they picked up her mascara. The sting of nail polish still hung in the air. “So sue me I still lash out at people sometimes.” 

Pacifica glanced up at her friend’s face. His lips were drawn into a thin line. His brows furrowed with such intensity that there was no way it wasn’t painful. “Just...apologize to Grenda, please. For all of our sakes.” 

“We’ll see.” Once more the connection fell silent. 

“Soooo…,” Dipper said, clapping his hands together, “Stan told me that you two are going to tour Emerald City. That’s a good school.” 

“Yeah, she croaked as she picked at a loose thread on one of the shirt’s buttons. Pacifica surveyed the attic bedroom around her. Evidence of the twins still existed, from Dipper’s wrinkly clothes strewn about the floor, to the boy band posters with crinkled edges Mabel had hot-glued to the walls years prior. Duct tape still held the window together after the brunette girl shattered it with her grappling hook. 

Seeing as she was the one currently sitting there, though, and her belongings outnumbered the twins’ ten to one, there was no doubt that this was Pacifica’s room. It was Pacifica’s room that just so happened to have other people staying in it sometimes, and if anyone ever tried to dispute the claim, the line of golf trophies collecting (probably other-worldly) dust were there to say otherwise. 

Pacifica yawned and stretched, rolling back onto her stomach and kicking her feet up behind her. They were kept warm by a pair of fluffy, neon green, googly-eyed socks, a gift from you-know-who. 

Rubbing at her eyes, “Yeah,” she said again, “Which means I’ve got an early morning, so I’m gonna have to let you go.” 

Dipper yawned back at her, “Well, ok. Are you going to be alright?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” 

The next morning, Pacifica was awoken from her usual fitful sleep by a loud pounding on the bedroom door. Stan never did know how to be quiet. 

“Pacifica, sweetie, we said we were going to leave at 6:30. It’s already 6:45 and you’re not even up.” Ungodly, is what that comment was. The tour wasn’t even scheduled until the following afternoon. Why she had to arise so early for a straight-shot three-hour drive into Washington, the world could only guess. Traffic, probably. 

“Come on we gotta beat the traffic! I already threw your stuff in the car!” There. Suspicions confirmed. Through her sleepy haze, the girl heard the door being thrown open hard enough to slam into the wall followed by a series of quickly approaching loud squeals. Suddenly, a large pig-sized-mass catapulted onto her back, turned a couple of times, and settled on taking a bare foot in its mouth in an attempt to drag her out of bed. A successful attempt, at that, as soon enough Pacifica’s face hit the planked floor _hard_ , taking all the blankets and covers with her. Waddles, satisfied with the job well done, moved on the gnaw at the already fraying straps of her golf bag. Her teammates previously already remarked on the deteriorating quality of said bag. In another masterstroke of ‘lying’, the team captain told her compatriots that yes, a pig was eating her golf bag. 

None of them believed her, but the issue was dropped with nothing more than annoyed grumblings about Pacifica’s barely improved attitude. The Northwest girl took their criticisms to heart though, and she finally for the first time knew the names of everyone on the team, first and last, just in time for the last tournament of the season. Better late than never, she supposed. 

Pacifica groaned in pain against the hardwood, hair garbled in her mouth. 

Stan's footsteps retreated back down the stairs. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he called over his shoulder.

Pacifica threw up a shaky thumbs-up, seen by no one but the pig. 

“So you’ve been to Seattle before,” Pacifica asked later, slouched against the worn leather of Stan’s El Diablo. She kicked her feet up onto the dash, causing the man to flich and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. 

“I’ve spent some time there, yes.” 

The girl lolled her head to the side, getting a better look at him. Trees rushed past in the background as the car pushed 20 over the speed limit. The Oregon-Washington border swiftly approached, as did another ‘first’ for Pacifica: Her first time traveling to another state (not counting the layover in Texas that one time, which no one did). Airy laughter escaped her nose, “you got arrested didn’t you,” she said, voice still hoarse with sleep. 

Brown eyes darted between his passenger and the road, “Yes.” 

“We’re going to a state you’re banned in, aren’t we?” 

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” 

Pacifica took a long sip from her coffee, “Alright then.” She went back to studying the landscape, watching the people in the other cars and their shocked faces to suddenly be street racing a car that should have given up the ghost before she was born. For all the things she liked about Stan Pines, she was glad that ‘Preston’ (via the Northwest family chauffeur) had been the one to teach her to drive. 

Sweet coffee once again filled her mouth, “So whatcha do?”

“Huh?”

“What did you do to see the inside of a Seattle prison?” 

“Drunk and disorderly. Spent two weeks in jail,” Stan scratched at his stubbled chin, drifting the car around a winding turn and nearly causing Pacifica to knee herself in the eye, “Ya know, you’ve got a fake I.D. now. If you wanted...we could try and have a night on the town. I’m sure those old places won’t remember me.” 

Pacifica laughed, “HA! I’m sooo not willing to find out.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

Soon enough, Pacifica found herself staring out onto the Pacific Ocean, the smell of weed smoke and sea air heady enough to make her gag. Stan Pines was a wizard, finding free parking as close to campus as he did. Belltown, the brochures and her research said. Expensive, but trendy, where the literal salt of the earth lapped upon the heels of Seattle’s most affluent. The streets bustled with more people in a city block than those who lived in all of Roadkill County, and though the girl jumped back in fear at nearly being run over by a pair of bicyclists, the liveliness of it all shook something deep within the blonde’s bones. Maybe it was sensory overload, but as she looked to the right, the Space Needle loomed tall and powerful, encouraging Pacifica to embrace her curiosities more and more. 

She whipped around, wide-eyed and toothy grinned, to see Stan watching her with a fondness on his face and strong hands on his waist. “Are you a Nirvana fan,” he asked, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Waves broke on the beach, drowning out nearly all other sounds as the girl refocused her intrigue at a seagull picking at a broken, forgotten flip-flop. “No,” she said, voice breathy, “But I could be.” 

Yeah. She _could_ be, but the early-morning peppiness of their campus tour guide, appropriately named ‘Hope’, as Pacifica _hoped_ she’d get the chance to throw the girl off the pier, drained what little energy she managed to scrape together at 10 in the morning. 

“...and over to your left, you’ll see the Bernadette Snow Memorial Gymnasium. It houses our physical education programs, for which we here at Emerald City University are ranked top 10 in the state of Washington. Here at Emerald City, we believe in the enrichment of the body as well as the mind, which is why every student must fulfill a physical education credit to graduate.” A lanyard swung from Hope’s neck and Pacifica had to hide her snort as the guide nearly backed right into a light pole, due to her not wanting to glance away from her group of bored high schoolers for even a second, “Our facilities are very robust, sporting- haha ‘sporting’. Get it guys?” Silence. “Anyway, there’s multiple basketball courts, indoor track, as well as an Olympic sized swimming pool! Many of the dorms also contain a smaller gym right in the dorm! How great is that?”

Then there was Stan. “Speaking of sports, what’s your golf program like?” Pacifica blushed; she should be grateful. It was nice that the man held genuine interest and concern for her continued education. But even Hope seemed to grow annoyed with his non-stop questions. 

“That’s a good question, Mr. Pines,” the tour guide turned to Pacifica, “Pacifica, do you golf?” 

“Yeah, I golf sometimes-” 

“You kidding? Don’t be so modest, blondie,” Stan cut in, his yell attracting stares from passing groups of students. The girl winced as he slapped a hand on her back, “Pacifica here is a world-class golfer. She could probably beat Tiger Woods at the height of his career.” 

Hope was taken aback, “O-oh. Well, I’m glad you brought that up. Emerald City has quite the respectable girl’s golf program. I’m sure someone in the athletics office would love to sit down and chat about your prospects.” 

Their tour guide paused a second, nervous that Stan was going to pose yet another question. Mercifully, someone else had one, and Hope turned her attention to them. “How much interaction with other city schools do you get here?” 

“Oh great question,” Hope began counting on her fingers, “Well, there’s the University of Washington, the Elliot Bay College for the Arts, Seattle University…” 

Pacifica tuned her out as the group continued wandering around campus. Stan could listen enough for the both of them, and as much as he tried to hide it, she noticed he’d brought along a little note pad. She only caught a glimpse, but what she saw made her stomach bottom out: the word ‘money?’ written in all caps and underlined multiple times. Yeah, her thoughts exactly. The two of them hadn’t broached the subject yet, and Pacifica felt guilty that the man was ready to accept the burden of paying for her tuition. He’d already clothed and fed her and put a solid roof over her head. Asking for more would just be greedy. 

Pacifica admired the area around them. In true Seattle fashion, it rained that morning, but by their tour time, the weather faded into a foggy dew, leaving frost on the grass. Speaking of grass, despite being in the middle of a bustling city, there was a surprising amount of foliage on the campus. A small home away from home, the girl thought to herself, but nowhere else on Earth smelled like Gravity Falls with its pine-scented air-freshener intensity. Still, the ocean could become a close second. 

The group rounded a corner. The girl watched Stan continue scribbling on his notepad, using the complimentary Emerald City pen they were given no less. “And here we have Howe Visual Arts College, or HVAC, as we like to call it,” Hope giggled, leading the group inside. Finally, something relevant to Pacifica. They passed art studios and sound stages and the equipment cage, which was well stocked with any kind of camera and stock a burgeoning photographer could want. 

“Pacifica,” their guide said, getting her attention, “this might interest you.” The high schoolers were led into a classroom full of computers, then through a back room into another room the blonde could smell from a mile away: the dark room, and all the chemicals that went along with that. Hope flicked on the lights after ensuing she wouldn’t damage anyone’s hard work and Pacifica’s eyes widened as her gaze adjusted to the light. Enlargers as far as the eye could see, along with a state of the art water circulation system. The girl’s jaw dropped; back at Gravity Falls High, the number of students greatly outnumbered the amount of equipment they had. Some students had to share cameras, and there were only enough enlargers for half the class to use at a time, forcing people to switch off days. The situation there was not ideal...but here? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by another comment from Hope, “Yup. Not a lot of people interested in _the old ways_ , I guess. But someone’s got to keep the flame alive.” As stupid and preppy as the other girl sounded, Pacifica couldn’t help but agree. 

What kind of person schedules the state golf tournament to be on a Tuesday afternoon, Pacifica did not know. What she _did_ know, was that she was killing the game. All that practice hitting drives in the backyard of the shack paid off, and as she brought the driver back down to earth on the 18th hole, the team captain relished in the sight of the little white ball sailing over the fairway, coming to rest in the sweet spot between a sand trap and the green. The audience clapped their polite claps, and even her teammates cheered for her, now that she finally decided to engage with them. However, everyone else was outshined by Stan Pines, screaming his praises with voice and airhorn. It was completely inappropriate for the setting, but Pacifica couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face as she turned to wave at her Grunkle. He came to see her play. _Someone_ came to see _her_ play. For the first time. Ever.

One hit with the wedge and one with the putter later, and the golf ball sunk itself into the final hole, ensuring Gravity Falls High the state championship. The team hoisted the giggling and bashful blonde up onto their shoulders medals hanging from around their necks. Pacifica was at the top of her game, but more importantly the top of _the_ game. How would the girl’s golf team survive without their intrepid leader? 

The sun finally set beneath the horizon as Stan and Pacifica walked back to the Stanmobile. She’d taken the bus to the tournament, but chose to abstain from partying on the way back. The only person she wanted to celebrate with stood right beside her. The team understood; they all thought she was sort of a prude anyway, and that was one perception Pacifica didn’t mind upholding despite how false it was. 

“You did good today, kid,” grunted Stan, voice hoarse from shouting. He snatched the visor off her head and ruffled her dirty blonde locks. 

Pacifica blushed, “Thanks Grunkle Stan,” she replied, admiring the bouquet of wildflowers the man put together for her in secret. She could tell they were picked from the area surrounding the shack.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. “You did good. But even if you completely failed…” Pacifica could only laugh at his pause, not able to shake her good mood. “You’d still be number one in my book.” 

The sound of approaching wheels came from behind, and the two companions moved to the side to allow the car to pass. However, when the golf cart came into view, instead of driving right by, its driver instead jerked the wheel hard to the right, coming to a stop in front of the pair and blocking their path. 

Out stepped a woman roughly Pacifica’s height, though, with the teen in golf shoes and the mysterious woman in heels, the newcomer towered over both Pacifica and Stan. She wore a tasteful white blouse under a tan leather jacket. As she stepped towards them, her pants billowed in the slight breeze. 

A hand was offered to Pacifica, who took it with suspicion. The woman opened her lipsticked mouth to speak, voice as elegant as gold leaf, “Ms. Northwest?” 

“I am she.” 

The two of them shook hands. Pacifica admired the strength of the older woman’s grip. “I’m Katrina Foresyth. I’m a scout for Emerald City University’s girl’s golf program. I believe you spoke to someone in our office a couple of days ago?” 

Stan and Pacifica realized where this conversation was headed. Eyes wide, they glanced between each other and Ms. Forseyth as the blonde shook her hand again with renewed enthusiasm. “Yes! I did! What can I do for you?”

The scout beckoned them into her golf cart, starting the engine and beginning a slow, pensive drive around the links. “I liked what I saw today, Ms. Northwest,” she began, arm resting over the back of the passenger seat, “You’ve got some real talent. Let’s chat.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, don't be afraid to reach out to me either on here or on tumblr. I love hearing from you guys. 
> 
> The next chapter will be soon. 
> 
> And happy holidays you guys. It's been quite the year haha


	18. Rockabye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I didn't really intend for this fic to become a monthly fic, and it won't be. That's just how the past couple of chapters have shaken out. 
> 
> Here's the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=Zzcwx8LdROm0hsiOipQ7Pg
> 
> Here's my Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob
> 
> Enjoy! Feel free to leave comments and kudos.

December snapped its pearly white teeth. Pacifica ignored its growls, too engrossed in her final project for that semester of AP German: An analysis (written in German) on Kafka’s _Metamorphosis_ (read in the original German as well). It was either this or Faust, so of course, she went with the lesser of two evils. When the subject of the project was announced, the girl begged to write about Schubert or Brahms, but with no luck. She could pick a composer for her research project final for the second semester, said her teacher. First semester, she had been told, was to appreciate a value of utmost importance in German culture: anguish. 

“Yeah, ok,” Pacifica grumbled to herself, “As if Schubert didn’t suffer.” 

Still, she tried to get in the spirit of things; Bruckner seven played from Stan’s record player the blonde had claimed as her own after the man showed her how to use it. She enjoyed perusing his collection, and the robust selection of classical surprised her. His brother’s, he had said, though nervous sweat immediately appeared on his brow. He was just hanging onto it until Ford returned. Pacifica let him live with that statement, which was probably at least a half-truth. She could be a classical aficionado enough for both of them. 

Strings and winds whirled behind her as she continued writing away, loathing the fact that her teacher _insisted_ the essay be handwritten. Screw the fact that her brain would probably absorb the information better than if she typed it out; her hand was cramping up!

A blanket covered her already sweatered shoulders. Whatever poor excuse for heating the Mystery Shack had, it surely was on the fritz. She’d been told that Soos would arrive to take a look soon enough; that was three days ago and still Pacifica wore the gloves Stan so lovingly picked out for her indoors. 

Vision beginning to double, Pacifica took a moment to watch the world outside the attic window. That morning it rained, but as the temperature dropped later in the day, the water froze and the grass turned gray with frost. Pacifica nearly slid the BMW right off the road on the drive home from school. She was glad Candy’s Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons group met on Tuesday afternoons since her friend would inevitably rip into her for her poor driving. She got enough of that every morning, though thanks to Candy’s chastising, her back wheels began smacking the curb less and less. 

A pair of fox pups played in the shack’s backyard, biting and tumbling over each other in a dance. Pacifica smiled; Of all the forest animals native to Gravity Falls (of all the non-supernatural ones at least) foxes were her favorite. The picture of intelligence and mischief, the girl felt some kind of kinship with the creature. 

In the early days of their friendship, when Pacifica was still learning the layout of the chicken coop that is the Mystery Shack, Stan watched over her with intense scrutiny, as if any minute she could snap and devour a twin alive. Maybe the con-man wasn’t always right there over her shoulder, but she could feel him: in the hallway or just beyond the edges of her vision. She ruminated on the nature of their relationship _now_ , laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. How things change. 

The foxes continued rolling around but then threw their little orange heads to the heavens as the sky began to fall once more. This time, the chill that flashed up Pacifica’s spine was not from the inadequate heating, but excitement instead: Snow, the first of the year. 

The wind picked up, and soon snow poured over Gravity Falls in a blinding white torrent. Pacifica itched for the earthiest of a mug of hot matcha. Outside, visibility dropped to nothing but the blistering white void. The girl’s head dropped down to face her paper, similar in hue to the backyard, save for the few lines of her flowing script. Bred for beautiful handwriting, it was too bad that the heel of her hand always had to smudge and distort the letters. She wrote a few more words; the ever-present silver sheen simply a fact of life. 

Pacifica spun the eraser around in her mechanical pencil, listening to the way it clicked in time with Bruckner as her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip in concentration. Maybe she could try to become ambidextrous, learn to write English with one hand and German with the left, like Da Vinci. After finals week, she’d certainly have more time to try…

The symphony came to a close, and with it ended the amount of mental energy she felt like dedicating to this task. There was plenty of time to turn it in, seeing as the current day was only Tuesday. She reread the lines over once more, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Once finals ended, the holidays would be upon them. Pacifica knew the Pines family was Jewish, and that they celebrated Hanukkah, but _how_ Jewish they were was unclear. 

_Her_ family always did Christmas. Bashes on every one of the twelve nights. The flow of mulled wine and hot toddies spiced the air in Northwest Manor in a way no scented candle ever could. The biggest tree in Roadkill county sat in their foyer year after year in accordance with an arcane local law that stated that Nathaniel Northwest and all his descendants were promised the tallest tree each Yuletide. Mostly, Pacifica saw such pettiness and opulence as stupid and unnecessary, but when the gleaming platinum star was placed atop evergreen branches, perhaps some indulgences were warranted. 

But those days were behind her, as were the days of receiving thousand dollar checks and private islands as Christmas gifts. Speaking of, she should really look into securing the deed to Isle de Pacifica…

Pacifica walked barefoot around the room, slow and dream-like, taking the time to admire the nostalgia present in every object and bit of space. Her golf awards stood proud on their shelf, the newest of which gleamed with the promise of future. Articles of clothing littered the floor, a mix of her own, Dipper’s, Mabel’s, and even a few of Stan’s questionable fashion choices. She glanced out the window one last time before descending the stairs: still impenetrable white. 

Landing on the ground floor, Pacifica was immediately accosted by the pounce of her pet pig. She laughed, tired from academia, and playfully threatened to turn him into bacon should he ever attack her like that again. Empty threats to be sure, as the girl knew her hide would be next if Mabel got wind of the fate of her porcine friend. The two friends settled on the worn couch in the den, listening to the rustle of Stan in the kitchen, cooking up god knows what for dinner. Perhaps rustling was too gentle a word: clanging, more like it, the sounds of a hard-fought battle. Pacifica died inside every time she thought about what Stan could possibly be doing with the box grater to unleash such sounds of pure anguish, but as long as it put food on the table, the girl was happy to tune out the noise. 

Flipping through the channels, she finally landed on something worth watching. Waddles squealed in fear and apprehension. For such a beefy boy, the pig was such a scaredy-cat. Pacifica pulled out her phone and shot Dipper a quick ‘wyd’ text. 

Dippin’ Sauce: Nm. Taking a break from studying. 

Paz: Turn on Ghost Harassers. They’re making a mockery of your profession ;)

Dippin’ Sauce: lol don’t they always?

The marathon continued, and soon the friends’ conversation drifted elsewhere. 

Paz: It’s snowing up here. First one of the season. 

Dippin’ Sauce: Oh cool. It’s cold here too. 50 degrees :(

Paz: You would die in a Gravity Falls winter.

Dippin’ Sauce: Yeah, probably. 

The kitchen cacophony stopped with a large grunt and the sound of a pot being slammed on the counter. “Pacifica? Dinner’s ready,” Stan called, breathless, “Do you want to eat now?” 

Of course she did, but it was nice to be given the choice. “Yes, I’m coming,” she answered as she texted Dipper that she had to go with a promise that they’d talk later that night. He could catch her up on all the ghost hunting she missed. 

Walking into the small kitchen, the warm smell of soup overwhelmed Pacifica. Steam rolled off the large ceramic pot sitting in the center of the Mystery Shack’s modest kitchen table. Stan himself, with a sheen of sweat on his brow, looked prouder than ever with his meaty hands on his hips and his smirk held high. 

“I have a fun family bonding activity for us later tonight. You interested?”

Pacifica sat down as the man poured them each a glass of water, “As long as it’s not a crime, sure.”

“It is not.”

“Than sure.” She ran a finger along the chipped china bowl laid out before her, a thrift store purchase she had insisted on as even in her new life, Ms. Northwest was not willing to eat off paper every day for every meal. 

Theirs was a relationship of mutual enrichment; Stan supplied Pacifica with room and board, Pacifica taught Stan how to properly set a table.

She smiled and moved her soup spoon from the left side of the plate to the right: still room to grow it seemed.

The man sat opposite her, triumphant smile still flashing teeth. 

An eyebrow raised, curious and amused, “Another ‘Pines’ family recipe,” she asked. 

“You got it, kid. Matzo ball soup,” he dug a spoon into the bowl, slurping the broth and making the hair on the back of Pacifica’s neck stand up, “I figured, if you’re going to celebrate Hanukkah, it might be worth it for you to learn...uh...some other Jew stuff, ya know?” 

Pacifica herself tasted the soup, immediately feeling warmth like the hearth of a home spread through her head and heart, “ _Shit_ ,” she muttered, excitedly taking another spoonful, “This is really good.” 

“Just like momma used to make,” he beamed, flexing his arms as if their bulkiness had any bearing on the quality of the meal. Then again, it would be impossible to say they didn’t. Perhaps it was a Muhammad Ali situation. Stan Pines could bunch the lights out of anyone, but hand the man a bowl of matzo, and his fingers could roll like the most graceful of dancers. Poetry in motion, it was. 

Pacifica took another spoonful, allowing drops of broth to run down her chin, “But yeah...I mean, we always celebrated Christmas, well more like ‘celebrated’. We weren’t religious or anything.” She furrowed her brows, “Wouldn’t it be kinda awkward, if I just tagged along for that stuff.” 

He waved away her fears, “Kid, it’s not like we Pines’ go to temple, which by the way, the closest synagogue is like 45 minutes away…,” Stan’s voice dropped a couple of decibels, turning a little guilty, “Not that...we’d be allowed in. Jeez. You’d think after 30 years and several rabbis they’d forgive and forget the ‘shofar incident’ but I guess not. Went a couple years ago just to check if they had changed their stance on collection plates, they hadn’t, so that was one money-making scheme down the toilet,” he rambled on, oblivious to the way the girl across from him stared in shocked delight at every leg of the story, “Anyway, so I don’t even get two steps in the door when a very beefy man walked up to me, aggressively tapped a plaque engraved with my face and the words ‘banned for life’, so obviously I got the message and hightailed it out of there, but not before I nicked the hood ornament off some poor sucker’s Jag. Dressed it up a bit. Orange and black paint, googly eyes, the works ya know?” 

“Are you talking about-”

“Yes indeed. That hood ornament is currently sitting in the museum as ‘The Pygmy Tiger Cursed by Medusa: Forever Pouncing on Invisible Prey’. Maybe it wasn’t a wasted trip after all.”

Soup continued to drip out of the girl’s stunned mouth, “So,” she took a moment to collect her thoughts, “No church?” 

“Synagogue. And no, no synagogue. I just thought that you’d like to know the story behind the menorah and stuff.”

“I would.” 

Later that night, the two of them sat on the couch, occupied with Stan’s ‘family bonding activity’: rolling coins. The television droned on in the background as Pacifica struggled to match Stan’s pace. Again, those fine motor skills. Stan’s naturally sticky fingers simply possessed an unmatched nimble touch. Pennies clinked together within the papers. The blonde felt her neck heat up with aggravation as she accidentally tore yet another roll. If it wasn’t so late at night, she’d consider taking the pig out to destress. Instead, she focused on the heady scent of coins, and the always delightful tales of his youth Stan filled the air with.

“...and from that day forward, my brother made sure to always double-check which way the fire extinguisher was pointing.” Pacifica and Stan collapsed into a fit of giggles, imagining a teenaged Ford covered head to two in white foam as the fire still raged in front of him. Stan cleared his throat, his suddenly fidgety hands dropping a couple of dimes into the shag carpeting. “So. Speaking of Ford, I just got word earlier today. He’s coming home for the holidays. He’s getting in in the next day or so.” 

“Oh,” the girl replied, pumping her fist in the air as she finally finished rolling up another bundle of quarters. 

“Just ‘oh’?” 

There wasn’t a whole lot to say there. Pacifica hadn’t seen Ford in person since the apocalypse. She knew he drifted into town every once in a while, roaming around his old stomping grounds and chastising Stanley at every opportunity. Mabel mentioned that he even visited them in California once and that they took him to In n Out for the first time. He was unimpressed, and in usual Ford fashion ceded control of his animal style fries to his grandniece in order to get back to the Dungeons Dungeons and More Dungeons board quicker. 

She wondered if Ford ever thought about her. Probably not, she couldn’t think of a reason why he would other than her being one of the people holed up in the Mystery Shack. That was enough, she supposed. Pacifica tried not to think about those times. 

“Yeah, just oh.” 

Stan studied her, “He’ll like you. I don’t think Ford ever strictly _dis_ liked you. He probably has a vague dislike for any rich person, the commie bastard, but then again, you’re not a rich person anymore, so I’d imagine the two of you will get along just fine.” 

“I hope so.” 

“Yeah whatever. If nothing else, you can laugh when he yells at me for lighting the candles out of order.” 

The teen laughed, “Isn’t there some intense symbolism behind that. And weren’t you saying you wanted to teach me about it?” 

Stan scoffed, but a fond smile still tugged at his stubbly chin, “Yeah whatever. The oil and the Maccabees and whatever. It’s all very holy, but kid, at the end of the day, they’re just candles. I’m more of the quiet worship type anyway.” 

“So am I.” 

“And hey. Christmas is after Hanukkah this year. We can celebrate if you want. Nothing major. Maybe I could get a fake tree and put some presents around it. Hang some mistletoe, though I’m not sure if either of us are really getting any....”

Pacifica rested her chin on an open palm, a small warm smile matching her tired eyes, “Whatever you want.” 

“I-”, Stan cut himself off, not used to being asked that. His wide eyes darted back and forth before finally resting equal to the girl’s blue suede ones. They stared at each other for a tense second until the man ducked his head back down to the coins laid out before them in an effort to hide his watery smile. Neck red, he removed his thick glasses to wipe at the invisible dust that caused his vision to water. Stan took a deep breath, “I...I think we should celebrate both.” 

An angular chin nodded against a hand, “Sounds good to me.” 

The rest of finals week passed Gravity Falls at once in the blink of an eye for some and at a glacial pace for others; Pacifica was the latter, though this fact did not prevent her from running up until the bell on her German paper. The oral exam administered and finished with, it was with great speed and even greater cramping of the hand that the girl tore through the lines of her notebook like a bull as others passing through the commons gave the queen bee a wide berth. Her final paper was due at the end of the day Friday...which meant that she had about 15 minutes to write another half-page and sprint it up to her professor’s desk in the foreign language office...which happened to be up two floors and on the other side of the school. 

With one last flourish of the hand and a muttered snide comment about how ‘this essay would totally be a lot better if _I_ could have picked the topic’, the chair was shoved out from under her already sprinting feet. She checked her watch: 10:55, five minutes left. Pacifica growled and huffed her way past terrified underclassmen, cursing her choice in sport all the way. She just **_had_ **to be a golf star, didn’t she? Stong arms and back meant nothing if one skips leg day every day of their life. Her mind drifted to Candy, a long-distance runner for the school’s track team. The mere thought of the exhaustion and strain caused the blonde to almost lose her lunch as she trudged up yet another flight of stairs. 

Finally on the third floor, Pacifica’s sneakers squealed like a stock car as she burned out the rubber on her heels, nearly barreling into her German professor as she emerged from her office in the process. 

“Frau Hofmann! I was just coming to find you,” the senior choked out in between heaving breathes. 

Frau Hofmann looked down her nose at Pacifica, unimpressed with the sweating, near-death, red in the face high schooler disintegrating before her. She snatched the papers out of Pacifica’s hands without a word, meeting no resistance, and with one last skeptical glare, was on her way down the hallway, going to wherever she was going before her chance encounter with Usain Bolt over there. 

Pacifica braced herself against a row of lockers, “Ok,” she wheezed, holding out a hand in a limp wave, “Hope you have a nice holiday.” 

But the pain did not stop for Pacifica Northwest. That afternoon, as she sat in the Mystery Shack’s kitchen, Wendy dug needles into her pale forearm as the nails of her left hand cut half-moons into the old wood of the table. A reward for a job well done, she reasoned, though how much reward she felt at the moment was dubious. 

Wendy, brow scrunched in concentration as she switched colors, this time to rich burnt sienna, made conversation to try and distract her patient from the pain, “Ya know, Paz. I really appreciate how you’ve taken an interest in tattooing. Before it was kinda just like a hobby for me or whatever, but between you and the dares Thompson keeps taking, I think I might have something here.” 

“What do you mean,” responded Pacifica through clenched teeth, which was followed with a deep guttural cry as the forms on her arm took a more definitive shape. 

“I mean I think I want to be a tattoo artist.” The redhead smirked but still did not tear her eyes away from her work. “Try not to twitch please, or else this fox is going to end up with crooked ears.” 

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“I know but _try harder_. You’re almost done.”

It turned out that in Wendy’s mind, almost done meant another hour, but finally, limbs aching and teeth nearly cracked with the strength at which she clenched them, Pacifica was handed a mirror to admire the new piece of art that now adorned her body. Immediately, she went to fun her fingers along the still tender flesh, and immediately those fingers were smacked hard into the table’s edge. 

“OW,” she yelped, narrowing her eyes at the artist. 

“Don’t look at me! Look at the tattoo. Good right?”

Her eyes flickering back to the mirror, Pacifica had to admit it: the tattoo _did_ look good. A fox galloped up the length on the outside of her forearm, just seconds out of reach of the diamond that sat on her wrist. Her first in living color, filled with oranges, creams, and deep blacks, the girl couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. 

“Consider it a Christmas gift,” Wendy said, “Though maybe I should pay you for being my guinea pig”

“We’ll call it even.”

That night, with her socked feet kicked up behind her, the blonde grinned within the warmth of her blankets and sweatshirt as the smiling face of her best friend looked back at her as they celebrated a successful end to the semester.

Dipper noticed the way Pacifica scratched at her arm, “What’s wrong? You got a rash or something?” 

“Ew no,” she spat back, rolling down the sleeve of her sweater to show him the bandage placed there, “It’s-”

“Another new tattoo? Damn Paz. That’s pretty hardcore.” 

Pacifica flexed, causing them both to laugh, “Thanks, can’t wait for you to see it,” a sigh escaped her mouth, “The summer can’t come fast enough.”

The grin on Dipper’s face widened, “About that. So I didn’t bring it up the other day because I didn’t want to say anything until plans were for sure, but we’re coming up to Gravity Falls for Hanukkah. Me, Mabel, my parents-”

“EEEEE DIPPER OH MY GOSH,” Pacifica squealed, hands flying to her mouth as her body vibrated with excitement, “When do you get here? How long are you staying? _Why_ are you even coming up oh my god I’m going to meet your **_parents_ **-” 

“Pacifica _one question at a time_.” The girl shut her mouth with a click and blushed, gesturing for him to answer her deluge of inquiries. He eyed her, warry that she would spout off again, but decided to embrace his friend’s silence while it was still available to him, “One: We’re driving up Sunday night, we’ll arrive Monday morning. Two: We’re staying through the new year. Three: Why…?” Dipper grasped for thoughts, looking to Pacifica for help, though she looked as curious as the brunette. “I don’t know, nostalgia I guess? It’s our last holiday before college, so Mabel and I begged to spend it with Stan. And Ford, because I guess he’ll be there too?” 

Pacifica pursed her lips, “ _Just Stan_?” 

The palm of Dipper’s hand made satisfying contact with his forehead, eyes widening in comedic surprise, “Oh! Of course. How stupid of me. And you, of course, Pacifica Northwest, my best friend.” 

“Wow how inconsiderate of you,” she quipped back, voice rich with mirth. She twirled a tawny lock around her index finger, staring into her friend’s coffee brown eyes. “So I guess that means I gotta buy a Hanukkah gift for you and Mabel. Oh shit wait do I have to buy _eight_?” 

“No, you don’t have to buy eight. You don’t even have to buy one-”

“I’m getting you a gift.” 

Dipper conceded, his protests thoroughly shut down, “Ok you’ll get me a gift.” Somewhere in the background, a parent called the boy to dinner, causing Dipper’s ears to perk up with a swift glance behind him. 

“Dinner time?” 

“Guess so,” he shrugged, reluctant to let her go, “We’ll talk soon?”

“I’ll see you even sooner.” The prospect overjoyed Pacifica, who already began brainstorming what she wanted to get him, crossreferenced with what she could actually afford on her meager budget. “Bye, Dipper. I love you.”

“Love you too,” they waved at each other through the screen, “Bye Paz.” 

Call ended, Pacifica watched herself think in her mirrored image on the computer screen. The bags under her eyes appeared less black, more of a smokey gray. Still angular, the harsh corners of her face mellowed out, helped by the fact that she was eating regularly again (though how ‘regular’ the meals were in the Mystery Shack was up for debate, considering the weird shit Stan liked to pull from the back of his freezer). 

She ran a finger across her freckled cheek in assessment. These days, the heavy makeup of her past just didn’t seem worth it, and with how the girl slept, she had little time for the whole production anyway. Most mornings were a simple brow, mascara, some kind of lip gloss look, and as time went on, Pacifica grew used to, or maybe she even grew to prefer the natural look. She definitely preferred the way her dirty blonde hair fell past her shoulder in tan rivulets down her back. 

Pacifica spent the next day wandering from shop to specialty shop in Gravity Falls’ bustling downtown. With the holidays swiftly approaching, everything was in a festive full swing with lights hung from every branch, streetlight, and awning, to the Christmas tree (second biggest in the county) that shone bright and tall in the center of the town square. Scents of cinnamon and pine wafted out of every open door, and as the afternoon wore into evening, the sun and the temperature dropped, making Pacifica even more grateful for the gifted gloves and the special Mabel made maroon knit cap. She pulled the zipper of her (one of Stan’s) parkas further up her neck, hands and body kept warm by the large matcha latte she carried around with her.

Soft, fat, snowflakes began once more falling from the sky, landing on the cheeks and eyelashes of anyone still daring to mill about in the cold. The snow crunched underfoot as Pacifica wandered the streets, stopping every so often to window-shop at the book store, or perhaps the crystal shop, trying to find the perfect gifts for Mabel, Dipper, and Stan. 

The blonde passed by a jewelry store, one that had once been one of her favorites, though was now way too out of her price range to even consider. She stopped, back illuminated by the golden light of the lamppost, admiring the featured display of glittering sapphires in necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and even some stitched into an eyepatch. 

Suddenly, beside her the wooden door flew open, causing the bell to chime on its frame. Someone with long strides walked towards her. Still admiring the finery, the sound of footsteps did not pass her by and fade into the night but instead stop a few feet off, and the unmistakable feeling of gaping eyes on her caused the girl to shrink in on herself and slowly turn to face her watcher, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Head bowed to the ground, she started with his shoes, highly polished leather ankle-boots, and drew her gaze upwards past the clearly luxury gray alpaca overcoat, to finally rest on the mustached face of a shocked and scared Preston Northwest, finger’s fiddling with a sleek black box in his hands that undoubtedly held a Christmas gift for his wife.

They gaped at each other for a long, silent moment, nothing passing the air but the perfect white flurries that fell from the sky. Pacifica couldn’t get over how ‘the same’ he looked. The same coifed hair, the same pristine skin. The same black riding gloves that matched one’s she had once upon a time, that now most likely sat in ash at the hearth of the manor’s fireplace. 

Slowly, Preston drew out his wallet, and every muscle in Pacifica’s body tensed to the point of near snapping. She watched as he drew out a bill, then without any warning, whirled around and began speed walking in the opposite direction, ‘dropping’ the money on the ground with nothing more than a quick anguished glance thrown back over his shoulder. 

For a second, Pacifica stayed rooted to the spot, eyes and mouth aghast. It was hard to tell from there, but she knew that whatever it was, it was a large bill. She stared some more, running the interaction over and over in her head, grappling with whether she should take the money and run or leave it for a lucky passerby. 

The wind picked up bit by bit, causing the bill to dance and flutter a foot or so further out of reach. Scared at mother nature herself stepping in and taking the choice away, Pacifica snatched it off the ground and ran back to her car, not bothering to check the denomination until she was in the safety of the beemer. She opened her trembling hands, smoothing out the paper’s scrunched corners; Benjamin Franklin stared back. 

The drive back to the Mystery Shack was silent and slow. She needed a little time to think, and the risk of skidding off the road was more than enough excuse to be extra careful. There was only so much avoidance one could do, however, and soon the large letters loomed in the quickly approaching distance, and Pacifica made the usual drift to park the beemer on the shack’s back lawn, away from any prying eyes. She knew it was a risk to take it out anywhere, but as the weather grew colder, it became more of a necessity. Stan’s jalopy didn’t have heat, after all. 

Making her way inside, she kicked off the boots and slowly removed her protective layer, running a hand over the wood planks of the walls, feeling their nooks, crannies, raw edges, and splinters. From the entryway, the girl could see a pair of socked feet on the reclined easy chair in the den, and not even bothering to say hello, began pacing back and forth in front of the TV. 

“So something happened.” If Pacifica wanted a response from someone, she didn’t give them any time to respond, “I kinda...ran into my dad. And he gave me a hundred dollar bill.” She paused again, but quickly recovered her thoughts, voice rising in pitch and speed, “Well, he didn’t _give_ it to me, per se. More like I watched him fish it out of his wallet and then he threw it on the ground as he sped away as fast as he could in the other direction.” 

The blonde stopped right in front of the television, gazing out the window situated behind it. Past the front lawn illuminated by the porchlight, the woods surrounding the Mystery Shack disappeared, being replaced with the pitch blackness of the void of night. Pacifica pulled out her phone; It was only six o'clock, and still the sun resolved to set so soon. 

“Did he say anything to you,” a voice asked from the chair, causing Pacifica to whirl around in surprise. The voice was gruff like Stan’s but in a more refined way. The voice of an adventurer, and the man it belonged to was quite the voyager indeed.

“Ford,” she said, rattled and warry that she just spilled her heart to a man she barely knew, “I didn’t realize you were here. When did you get in?”

Ford scratched the side of his face, shifting around in the black and yellow argyle sweater he sported, as if his skin was so unused to the gentleness of the soft fabric, “A couple hours ago, while you were out.” 

“Oh.”

“Did he say anything to you,” the man asked again as he brought the chair back up to the sitting position. One cannot have such a serious conversation whilst reclined and relaxed. 

Pacifica toed the carpet, “No. We just stared at each other.” 

Ford regarded her, “I see. So, the problem is that you don’t want his pity money, and yet…?”

“And yet money is hard to come by for me these days.”

“Right.”

The teen flopped down on the couch, draping herself over the armrest and groaning low from her throat. 

“Do you want to know what I think you should do,” the older man said, voice coming in muffled behind the arms splayed over her head. She nodded against the couch, knowing that she might emerge with a red patch on her forehead but not caring how dumb it looked. Ford continued, “You should buy some gifts for people. You are celebrating Hanukkah with us, I presume,” she nodded again, “Great, then you’ve got an excuse.” 

Pacifica shifted, letting her face see the light of the den, but still resting her cheek on the course chenille fabric, “That’s a good idea. Thanks, Ford.” 

“You can call me Grunkle Ford if you want.”

“I don’t want, no offense.”

“That's fine. I’m not as sentimental as Stanley.” 

She sat up fully, fingers still tracing the lines of Ben Franklin’s face, trying to uncover whether or not the founding father was actually a founding mother. “Could you help me with something else then?”

“Shoot.”

Pacifica quirked an eyebrow and lolled her head towards the chair, affixing Ford with a surprisingly serious stare, “What the hell do I get Stan for Hanukkah? In fact, what do I get _anyone_ for Hanukkah?”

A deep, rolling, laugh burst from Ford’s face, tired from the long journey behind him. He smiled, and reached over to pat the girl’s arm, “Pacifica, it might be easier to tell you what _not_ to get him.”

Pacifica smiled back, weak but eager, as Ford tucked in for the beginning of a night of storytelling, tales of youth and adolescence flowing from his tongue like wine from a bottle. 

The girl could tell that that he was definitely **_not_ **going to end up answering her question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real though, I'm so excited for what's coming next. I've been anticipating this and the next two chapters for months now. 
> 
> So beware: https://www.flickr.com/photos/191681986@N05/50816502161/in/dateposted-public/
> 
> Hope y'all are still down to read Christmas/Hanukkah and New Years, because that's what you're getting either way. 
> 
> Again, feel free to reach out to me on here or on tumble, I love hearing from you guys!


	19. On Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun fact: You think this chapter is long? My original plan was to roll Thanksgiving and Hanukkah/Christmas into one chapter! The uber chapter! So glad I didn't...
> 
> But for real I've had the section of the story we're in now in my head since day one. 
> 
> Here's my tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/newyearsdayjob  
> Here's the companion playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0wnppIhd4UMc3qeS0Sf8tM?si=9EeFzeJdRJWbnDiAxHRTcA
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave comments and kudos! I love hearing from you guys! Enjoy

“So what’s your favorite Christmas song?”

Pacifica looked down at the doughnut dough she currently mixed, side-eyeing the girl next to her that prepared its accompanying jelly. “You’re Jewish…”

Mabel scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Thanks, Pacifica. I didn’t realize,” she continued tending to the pot on the stove, “But Christmas is inescapable. Every day I go to work, dragging my sorry ass to the mall to take on another hellish shift at Bath & Body Works, and ya know what? Brenda Lee’s a pretty good singer,” she white-knuckled the wooden spoon, suddenly haunted eyes catching Pacifica off guard, “But I can only hear Rockin Around the Christmas Tree so many times before it makes me want to liquefy from sheer rage.”

“Uhhh…”

The ranting continued, “And here I thought that because tween me **_looooved_ ** to shop at Bath & Body Works, that it would be the perfect place to work right? **_Wrong_ **. It’s like Vegas. Stay for a while, don’t want to stay forever.”

“ **_UHHHHH_ **,” the blonde mumbled, declining to offer up any professional advice to her friend. She knew Mabel only held onto that job for the wicked employee discount. Lotions and scented candles for all! Pacifica’s arms itched at the mere thought of another Mabel Certified Girl’s Night in which she became a human swatch for the retailer’s entire seasonal line. 

“So,” Mabel snapped, voice strained from the memories of workdays past as she pushed sharp breaths of air through her nose, “I ask again, what’s your favorite Christmas song?”

“Secular or religious?”

The brunette’s face grew disgusted once more, annoyed that the other girl could never _just_ answer a question, “both…,” she said, stirring the fruit with a little more vigor. 

“Well O’ Holy Night is a really beautiful song, and now that you mention it, Rockin-” the speed at which Mabel turned to slap her arm broke the sound barrier, “I’m joking, Mabes. I don’t know, Wonderful Christmastime is fun.” 

“A Paul McCartney fan, huh?” 

“He has his moments. What’s your favorite?” 

Mabel’s eyebrows knit together, a look of incredulity on her face, “Mariah Carey, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

The brunette clicked off the stove and moved the pot onto the back burner as she herself came up behind Pacifica, straining her neck to rest her chin on the taller girl’s shoulder, “How’s the dough comin’ along?” 

Pacifica playfully knocked her temple against her friend’s, “Not sure. You’re the expert here.” 

A finger lashed out to poke at the mass of flour and yeast, leaving imprints on its supple surface. “I think it looks good. Let’s bring these out back. We can shape them there,” Mabel concluded. She rocked back onto her heels, but not before planting a swift peck to the skin right under Pacifica’s ear. The blonde blushed, but cited the jovial spirit of the season as a reason not to call the other girl on her actions. Mabel had a girlfriend, one she wasn’t happy with, but they _were_ still together. Upon the twins’ touchdown in Gravity Falls four days prior, that mantra re-erupted from the depths of Pacifica’s brain, droning over and over with every dubiously platonic touch the shorter girl made. 

Shaken from her thoughts by a parka hitting the back of her head, Pacifica followed Mabel outside to the deep fryers, making sure to bring along the pot of jelly her friend forgot on her way out. 

Stepping out into the nighttime cold with icy wind that nipped on her heels, a harmony of the Greek chorus bubbled inside her psyche, complete with seasonally-appropriate handbells. “You’ve survived two nights of Hanukkah, you can go a third. Maybe even strive for the full eight,” they rang out. Pacifica sure wanted to try, but one minute too long spent out in the cold might force her hand to forfeit. 

Boarded up for the season, the Mystery Shack’s snack shack looked as haunted as the infamous Dusk 2 Dawn. Speaking of, after hearing about their dance with death inside the confines of the convenience store, Pacifica knew she needed to check it out for herself. It wasn’t nearly as great as Dipper made it sound, although she did go back once or twice for the limited edition green raspberry slushies. 

Pacifica often found herself fixated on the experiences her best friend had in _her_ hometown. Then she’d go try to replicate them by herself, and it just never lived up to the hype. Maybe she was growing too old to get excited about the mysteries of Gravity Falls. To her, they weren’t mysteries; they were just a way of life. 

(Maybe Pacifica was actually jealous that she wasn’t there for all their misadventures, and mentally kicked herself for the potential memories she stole from herself if she just hadn’t been so mean.) 

It was impossible to say.

She caught up with Mabel and fished the metal keys out of one of the down parka’s many pockets. After a moment of fumbling, and with key finally in lock, the door swung open with a low, stuttering groan. 

“Sounds like you at night,” Mabel said, giggling as the two of them escaped the outdoors in favor of the warmish interior of the snack shack. 

“What,” Pacifica asked back as she roamed around the room, flicking on the fryers that hadn’t been used in months as she heard the crack of Mabel opening the bottle of canola oil. 

The brunette snorted, “I mean you snore. Loud. Right in my ear.”

“ _I DO NOT_!”

“You do! You always have, but this is the first Winter we’ve been together, and the low humidity must do a number on your sinuses.” At that, Pacifica sniffed, cringing at the snort that burst out the back of her throat. 

Mabel laughed harder, “See what I mean? If I didn’t have a gift for you already, I’d get you a humidifier. For my sake as much as yours.”

The taller girl nabbed the change in subject, “You got me a gift?.” Mabel nodded. “Well...what night do we exchange gifts?” 

“Any night you want.” 

Childish glee and greed lit up her face in a sharp-toothed grin, “Tonight,” she declared, oblivious to her friend’s fond chuckle. 

Mabel pulled out some baking trays setting to work on shaping the dough balls, “We’ll exchange gifts tomorrow. Here, come closer. This is how you do it.”

“But you just said-” 

Pacifica felt herself being jerked towards the brunette’s side. “Let’s exchange gifts tomorrow,” Mabel said, “It’ll be a reward for making it half-way through Hanukkah.” 

The blonde watched the shorter girl’s skilled hands as she rolled and caressed the dough into uniform, pale balls. A lump of the goo was placed in her hand, and with an encouraging nod, she tried replicating Mabel’s technique, “But then what’s my incentive for participating the rest of the nights?”

The Jewish girl drummed her fingers along her soft jaw in mock pensiveness, “Well…,” she started, her voice a salacious drawl, “I know what you like.” She ran a finger down the blonde’s arm, giggling as the girl shuddered and nearly dropped the dough. 

“What’s that now,” Pacifica asked, voice wobbly. She reached for another glob of the mixture, fingers working a little more manic. 

“Well, let me once again congratulate you on being reformed,” Mabel said, forming the sign of the cross, albeit backwards. Pacifica scoffed at that; a silver chain peaked out from under Mabel’s hand-knit sweater. The blonde knew it ended in a Star of David. “But still. I have a secret. One I think you’ll like.” 

Pacifica rolled her head, cracking her neck like a bag of popcorn. Leveling the grinning girl with a signature side-eye, “Go on,” she said. 

Mabel drew closer, close enough for the blonde to feel her lips brushing against her ear as she spoke the words, “I’ve invited people around for all eight nights before, but no one has ever done it. They’ll come by for one, maybe two nights, but Pacifica, if you participate in. All. Eight. Nights? You’d be the first.”

Pacifica couldn’t help herself, “Not ever Grenda?” She already knew the answer to that; Mabel’s girlfriend sucked the brunette’s lips off on night one and hadn’t been back since. Eyes still focused on the shaping of the dough, she could _feel_ Mabel’s grin curl even more. 

Her voice turned to a husk, “Not. Even. Grenda.” 

Blue eyes slipped closed for a heady moment, then turned and reopened to meet brown ones. Their lips inches apart, “Well...I guess you do know what I like,” she breathed. The deep-freeze of the unheated snack shack forgotten, she suddenly felt burning hot under Dipper’s borrowed flannel. 

Another moment passed, and seeing as Pacifica was going to go no further, Mabel backed away as the blonde placed the final formed ball onto the tray. “Shall we,” Pacifica asked, gesturing between the baking sheets and the deep fryers. 

“Yeah,” Mabel responded, shaken out of her thoughts, “I’ll let you do this part.” 

It turned out months away from the fryers a master did not maintain, and after limping back inside, fried and jellied donuts in tow, the two girls sat at the kitchen table, dressing Pacifica’s burns from the popping oil. The rest of the Pines clan sat jovial in the den, enjoying both the holiday spirit as well as the fruits of the girls’ hard work. 

Mabel rubbed aloe and honey up and down Pacifica’s toned arms, cooing sorrys and hold stills in response to her patient’s yelps of pain. Desperate to more adequately fill the silence, “Do I really snore,” the blonde asked through the tears pricking her vision. 

The brunette breathed out a soft laugh, “ _Yes_. I feel like I’m sleeping with a leaf blower.” 

“Why haven’t you said anything until now?” 

Mabel shrugged, “It doesn’t make me love you any less, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Mabel...like a friend,” warned Pacifica. 

“I-you-I...of course like a friend,” she bit out, eyebrows knit together as her fingers massaged burned skin.

“Mabel-” 

“Pacifica. Grenda promised me she’d be back for the last night.” 

“Ok and?”

Mabel glared up at her friend, some kind of retort hiding behind. She managed to bite it back and sighed. “And nothing”. A few more seconds of rubbing, and Pacifica’s arms felt thoroughly slimy. No burns there! “And nothing.” The shorter girl leaned back in her chair, “Should we rejoin the party?” 

“On the fourth day of Hanukkah, Mabel got for me,” Dipper sang the following night. The whole family, Dipper, Mabel, Stan, Ford, the twins’ parents, and Pacifica all sat around a Charlie Brown esque plastic Christmas tree decorated in blue and silver baubles bought by Stan from the dollar store. Pacifica stared at the setup, dumbfounded as to why the man would buy a **_fake_ **tree that looked like that when he could just buy one done up in full. The branches sagged under the weight of the ornaments, though she supposed it was fitting. At night, the creaks and groans of the Mystery Shack’s wooden frame only increased as snow piled high on its roof. 

Dipper’s disbelief rang true as his hands reverently brushed over the cover of a soft and exquisite leather-bound journal, “Mabel...where’d you get this? The craftsmanship…”

His twin blushed, hiding behind her thick hair. She sat between the two other teens, her feet resting across Pacifica’s lap. “Well,” she shrugged, “You all criticized me for taking this leatherworking elective, but...I noticed that you were running low on space in your journal, so…”

“So you took a leatherworking class for the sole purpose of making me a journal.” The boy began to tear up. Pacifica grabbed the camera hanging from her neck to snap a quick pick of the event. The rest of the family cooed as the siblings embraced, squeezing each other in a promise to never let go. As Mabel’s vice grip on him tightened, realization dawned on Dipper’s face, “Wait. How did you know I was running low on space in my journal?”

“...premonition.”

“ _Mabel_ , _stop reading my journals_.” 

“I can’t help it,” she cried back, “You have a way with words.” 

The distribution of gifts continued. The twins banded together and got Pacifica a tripod, which she promptly ripped out of its box. Dipper received a mountain of more books, which only made him laugh at how easy to shop for he was. The adults exchanged things adults exchange, scented candles and the like. Mabel’s ear-splitting shriek at the discovery that Pacifica bought her alpaca yarn from locally sourced Oregonian alpacas could have blown the house up at the sheer force of the sonic boom. Promises to knit all manners of clothes spilled quickly from her lips in a babble that was barely discernible. Mittens? Boxers? Sweatbands? One would only have to wait and see. 

One more unopened box sat in Pacifica’s lap. She picked at the wrappings, modest blue paper with a ring of silver ribbon. She had not yet mastered the skill of wrapping packages and the ribbon sat too loose around the box, threatening to slide off with the slightest of jostle. 

“Stan,” she interrupted with a timid voice, cutting into the middle of a tale he weaved with Ford of one of their childhood exploits. 

“What’s up, blondie? Aren’t you going to open that one?” 

She shook her head and shoved the box into his arms. Sitting in front of the menorah, the man was backlit with the warmth of the four lit candles, lending him a glowing orange aura in the otherwise dim den. His brown eyes searched hers for a confused second before glancing down at the gift. He saw the tag: For Stan, From Pacifica, and sheepish understanding graced his features. 

The family held their breath, silent as Stan slid open the wrappings with care. “Gee kid, this is kind of a heavy box. You didn’t finally snap and gift me Gideon’s head, did you,” he joked. Pacifica shook her head once more. Finally, the box opened and he pulled out a brand-new pair of winter boots. 

“Well, I noticed your old boots have that huge gash in the side from when the gnomes came back with an ax, a-and, they’re pretty worn anyway so I just thought-” 

“Kid I-these...aren’t cheap. How’d you afford these?” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Pacifica, it’s ok, you can tell him,” Ford chimed in. Stan’s confused head flicked between his brother and his pseudo-niece as the guilt of not telling anyone but Ford about what happened settled on the girl’s throat. Stan’s twin gave her an encouraging nod. 

She hadn’t even told Dipper, but despite the fear, she opened her mouth to speak, “I kinda...ran into my dad. And he gave me $100.” 

“When was this?” 

“About a week ago.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Pacifica grasped for words. Mabel reached out to squeeze her hand; the blonde squeezed back, “I didn’t want you to worry. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I used it to buy you a really sturdy pair of boots because I love you. And if I’m practically forced to take the bastard’s money, at least I can give myself the satisfaction of spending it how _I_ want.” 

Stan’s eyes grew wet as he pulled her into a crushing hug, “You could’ve put that towards college…”

“Oh come on, Grunkle Stan,” she managed through the tears, barking out a watery laugh, “You and I both know I’m getting that full-ride golf scholarship. Besides. How much would $100 do in this economy.” She gripped him back, burying her face into his shaking shoulders. 

“Pacifica, honey,” he started once they finally pulled away. He gestured to the boots, “thank you for these. You shouldn’t have.” 

The blonde shrugged her shoulders, plopping back onto the couch, “When have you or I ever asked permission for anything before.” 

“You got that right, blondie.” The hustler swiped a meaty finger under his eyes and regained his composure, “Now why don’t you set up that timer and show us your skill.” 

Not needing to be asked twice, the girl scrambled for her new tripod and screwed on her camera. She gave orders, instructing the adults to gather on either side of the couch. After what felt like an eternity of adjusting her shot, the timer was set and Pacifica vaulted the coffee table to take her place next to Mabel. They stared into the blinking red light, faces illuminated by the light of the menorah sitting under the living room window. Mabel’s arms curled around Pacifica and Dipper’s shoulders, and for the first time in as far back as she could remember, Pacifica took her place in a family. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, the pain of the past months faded a little more, being replaced with uncomplicated adoration. It felt good. It felt _really_ good. 

The fifth, sixth, and seventh nights of Hanukkah drifted by in a haze of gelt and latkes. This time Dipper was the one in a fight with popping oil as the medallions of potato hit the frying pan. The girls sat behind him at the kitchen table, laughing at his folly and knowing and hoping that he’d write poison pen about them in his brand-new journal. 

Pacifica spent the time getting to know her new extended family. Nights spent listening to Ford’s tales of yore and seeing his scars acquired from every corner of the earth. The blonde’s favorite was the gash on the back side of his shin from an underwater brawl with a kelpie in a loch in Scotland. Ford spoke of things and people from before history, when dead languages were alive and brewing and every second alive was a fight to continue living. His stories were different from Stan’s, more fantastical and less...sketchy, but Pacifica saw something beautiful that she wondered if the brothers, twins, themselves saw. As different as the two men were, they both always came to the same conclusion: life, through all its trials and heartbreak, is infinitely fulfilling, and one should do anything to keep living it. 

The twins’ parents, Peter and Jane, sat in on these fireside chats, and the blonde learned a lot about them too. Peter, with his trademarked Pines square haw and salt and pepper stubble, taught middle school math, and somehow found it in himself to love his job and the kids he taught. He laughed like the world hung onto his every word and always seemed to have an arm around his wife’s shoulders or a strong hand on her thigh. Joan also worked in the school system, as a school psychologist, and that was where the two of them met. Of all the school dances in all the world, they just had to chaperone the same one, and in the edges of a hot gymnasium, surrounded by tweens with sweaty palms and hands on shoulders, they struck up a conversation, and later a marriage. 

The burden of storytelling fell to Pacifica, and after tales of peril and soft love, what was there left to tell? Mabel once more sat next to her on the couch, an expectant look on her face as she traced the fox’s path up the blonde’s forearm. The brunette yawned and laid down across the couch, feet in their rightful place in Pacifica’s head, head stroked reverently in Dipper’s. 

Pacifica racked her brain. One story stuck out to her, though she wasn’t sure why. It was as good a tale as any, and so she began. “Once, when I was still just a child, I fell off my parent’s yacht during a fishing trip in Lake Gravity Falls. The captain, who my father promptly fired after this incident, took a turn too hard, and there I went, right over the railing. I did not know how to swim, and thus sunk like a stone as the sounds of people screaming on the boat above me drifted away and grew more muffled and I fell deeper into the lake’s depths.” She glanced around the room, “It _is, after all_ , a lot deeper than most people think.” 

“My lungs burned as I cried out, not knowing what was going on but knowing it was bad. My vision started to drift in and out, and my small arms and legs turned to lead as the strength left my body. Not even old enough to fully grasp the concept of death, I was headed for it, and as wisps of dirty blonde hair floated around me in a halo, the last sight I saw was almost the shimmering of crystal deep within the caverns and coves of Lake Gravity Falls.” 

“Than what,” Mabel mumbled out, half-asleep but still cognizant enough to follow along. 

“Well…then a pair of slippery cold arms took hold of me, and using my waning strength to keep my eyes open to look at the source of them, an ethereal, gorgeous face looked determined to pull me back up to the surface, which it began to do.” The teen gathered her thoughts, patting Mabel’s knee. “As we approached the surface, and the strong underwater woman towed me alongside her, she whispered important and forbidden knowledge to me. She said to me, and I still remember exactly what she said after all these years, ‘This is not your day, Pacifica Elise Northwest. We know all about you, and it is not your time to die.’ We had almost broken the surface, when I mumbled out through a cascade of bubbles ‘how do I die?’” 

The rest of the Pines hung on the edge of their seats. “Well, what did she say,” Ford asked, the rest of them nodding along. 

“She said ‘You will die satisfied’, and then with no warning I was thrown from the water like a torpedo and came down back to Earth, hitting the deck of my parent’s ship with a hard smack. My parents and their servants rushed me, checking every inch of me for injury, but there was none. They asked what happened and if I was fine. I had no answer. I just brushed them off and went back to my coloring book and one of the butlers quickly brought me a selection of crackers and fine cheeses.” 

“Do you know what she was,” questioned Dipper. 

“Mermaid? Siren? Lady of the Lake? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out,” Pacifica drew in a deep breath, stretching her arms. “Well,” she said, pushing Mabel’s feet off her lap as she stood up, “I think I’m ready to turn in. I wanna be well-rested for the big finale tomorrow.” A chorus of good nights and sleep tights followed her upstairs as she marched up the creaky stairs to the attic bedroom, Mabel’s groggy footsteps following close behind. 

Early the next morning, after a rough and tumble sleepless night, Pacifica watched the silver chain around Mabel’s neck bob up and down with the girl’s sleepy breathing. The sight of it made Pacifica’s fingers itch to clasp around a necklace that now belonged to the earth. Pacifica’s fingers itched for a lot of things. 

“Mabel,” she whispered into the room. The mass beside her in bed grunted, signaling that if Pacifica had a question, she’d better ask it fast. So she did, “Did you have a bat mitzvah?” 

“Yeah,” the brunette’s heavy voice replied, muffled by the weight of blankets and her own arm, “Dipper and I had a jointed bar/bat mitzvah.” Sensing the blonde had more to say, she added on, “Can we talk about it later? Go back to sleep.”

But something prompted Pacifica not to, instead choosing to stumble into the kitchen to find Jane Pines pushing eggs around a pan, sprinkling chives and salt into the mix. She turned at the sound of a scraping chair. “Well aren’t you up early.” 

“What time is it,” the girl mumbled back, eyes still too tired to focus on the clock on the wall. 

“About 6:30,” Jane responded, laughing at the way the teen gagged at the earliness of the hour.

Pacifica started to slide off the chair, “I think I’m going to get back to bed-” 

“Oh no you don’t. Sit back up. I want to talk to you.” Two plates of scrambled eggs were placed across from each other on the gingham tablecloth. “Do you want anything for your eggs? Pepper? More salt?” 

“Hot sauce please. There’s some in the fridge.” 

Jane chuckled, “God you sound like my husband. He puts the stuff on everything.” She watched Pacifica smother her eggs in fiery red sauce. The sun wouldn’t rise for about another hour, leaving the world outside their door cast in shades of indigo. The only light among them came from the dim, flickering bulbs in the kitchen’s overhead lamp. 

“What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Pacifica rolled her bleary eyes and scoffed around a forkful of golden eggs. “We’re just friends.” 

“Which is why I asked your _intentions_.” 

The blonde set her fork down on the plate with a clink and raised her head to meet the other woman face-to-face. It was like staring into the future, and Pacifica felt unnerved at how alike mother and daughter looked. Same round features and button nose. The eyes, though, they were all wrong. Staring into Mabel’s irises felt like wandering the deep brown forests that nestled and housed Gravity Falls. Pacifica turned behind her to peer at the sky out the kitchen window: mottled gray. She turned back around to make eye contact with Jane Pines: the same shade met her half-way. 

The girl brought another forkful of egg up to her hungry mouth, “It’s not my choice alone, is it.” 

Jane weighed her words and picked at her cuticles, “I just want what’s best for my daughter, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

“And you’ve hurt her in the past.”

“I don’t try to hide it.” 

The Pines matriarch picked at her own breakfast topped with a healthy serving of freshly-ground black pepper, “...I still remember the day Mabel came home from second grade crying because the boy she liked had pulled her pigtails. My mother was still with us, and she was living with us. She helped me comfort Mabel and after she’d finally calmed down and skipped off to play with her brother, my mother turned to me and said ‘Janie, you’d better guard that girl’s heart because lord knows she won’t do it herself.’” 

“Your dead mom was wrong.” 

Jane Pines sputtered, flabbergasted, “ _Excuse me_?” 

Pacifica snorted, “I mean, maybe not at first, but she’d wrong now. You know, when I first met Mabel, she was spending each week of the Summer hanging off the arms of a new boy,” she chewed her eggs, letting the moment sink in a little further as the outside world brightened up too, “But that was five years ago, and now Mabel is an adult. Mabel Pines is perfectly capable of protecting her own heart,” her voice dropped to a mutter, “Maybe she does it too well.” 

“Pacifica-”

“You can call me Paz.” 

Jane folded her hands in front of her, eggs left to grow cold, “Paz, do you think Mabel and Grenda are a good match?” 

“No.”

“I agree with you, but here’s the thing,” the older woman leaned back in her chair, “I don’t know if you’re much better.” 

Pacifica’s jaw tensed up, angry that a woman she barely knew could figure out her fears so easily. So was the job of a psychologist, though. Before the girl could snap out a witty retort, Dipper padded into the kitchen, messy-haired and yawning. “Hey Mom. What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs.”

Pacifica’s voice startled her best friend and he jumped, fumbling the plate in his hands as he whirled around, “Hey Paz. Didn’t see you there. Am I seeing things, because you _never_ get up before 11.” 

She smiled and rested her chin on an open palm, “It’s a Hanukkah miracle I suppose.”

The rest of the day progressed the same as the others. Good food, good company, gelt, though Grenda joined them sometime in the early afternoon. Currently, Pacifica’s smirk grew as Mabel’s girlfriend spun dud after dud in their game of dreidel. Grenada grew more heated; Mabel massaged her shoulders like a boxing coach and served her lover a fourth round of kugel. 

“How do you keep getting Gimel,” she yelled at Pacifica across the table. Grenada slammed a fist on the table, rattling the chocolate coins where they sat stacked like poker chips. 

“I guess I’m just lucky,” the blonde smirked. 

“Really? Because my guess is that you’re cheating!”

“ _What_? How do you cheat at dreidel?” 

“ _Welll_ ,” Mabel chimed in beside her, “Stan _did_ at one point have weighted dreidels,” she reached down to take Pacifica’s clear plate, resting a hand on the girl’s besweatered shoulder, “Do you want more?” 

Pacifica glanced up at her before turning back to face a steaming Grenda, “No. Thank you.” 

A few rounds later, with their winnings about equal, Pacifica watched Grenda gush over her brand-new Macho Man Randy Savage DVD box-set before Ford called everyone into the den to light the menorah. They gathered around the glowing light as Dipper lit the helper and began the prayer, “ _Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah_ …,” Pacifica watched a bead of wax drip down the candle as the people she considered family spoke with reverence, thanking the lord for the gift that is their lives. She herself stood with head bowed, Stan’s sturdy arm around her shoulder. Her eyes cast to the floor, a small smile appeared on her face to see that the man was wearing his new boots. 

"... _Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha’olam, She’ahsa neesim la’avotaynu bayamim haheim baz’man hazeh_ ,” and with the second prayer completed, Dipper lit each of the eight candles on the menorah, bathing the living room in their amber warmth. 

“Happy Hanukkah,” someone cheered, and the room broke out into joyous hugs and laughing kisses on cheeks. 

It was Stan’s night to pick the movie, and as everyone settled in, some on the couch or the chair, others strewn across the floor, there was a collective groan as he whipped out The Voyages of Loinclothiclese. 

Mabel, trying her hardest to not pay attention to the action on screen, made light small-talk with the rest of the group, recounting to Grenda the events of the nights she missed. She had just gotten around to retelling their late-night story circles, when a reminder went off in her head, “Oh, by the way, Grenda’s spending the night.” 

A bell went off in _Pacifica’s_ head. It was the holidays, she could have a little fun. “Guess that means a night on the couch for me,” she said, cheery grin plastered on top of devilish eyes. Mabel’s face drained of all color and she looked between her girlfriend and Pacifica as a way to beg the blonde to tread no further. 

Grenda narrowed her eyes, “What do you mean,” she asked followed by a nervous laugh. 

The blonde feigned innocence and struggled to keep her smile from turning sly, “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize you knew what I was talking about.” Mabel's hands clasped together in a prayer, but Pacifica remained undeterred, “Ever since we got on friendlier terms, whenever Mabel and I happen to be in the Mystery Shack at the same time, we sleep together!”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“She means like-” Mabel tried to cut in. The rest of the family, trying very hard to make it look like they weren’t hanging on every word, looked anywhere but at the girls.

“I mean we share a bed, of course,” Pacifica continued. Her knuckles burned white from how hard she clenched them in anticipation. “It’s kind of funny actually-”

“ _Paz don’t_ -” came Mabel's resignation plea. She laid a gentle hand on her girlfriend’s thigh, only to have it immediately smacked away by the increasingly incensed girl.

Still the blonde persisted, “I’m kind of an active sleeper, ya know? So my shirt rides up a lot at night. More morning than not, I awake to Mabel spooning me, hands on my bare stomach! Nice for these cold winter nights, not so much in the Summer,” she finished with a smirk. Pacifica had dropped a bomb and had about 15 seconds to get out of there before it went off. She rose to her feet, “Dipper, join me for a walk,” she called behind her, taking note of how Mabel’s eyes screwed shut and the vein bulged in her neck in preparation for the coming onslaught. Without a word, the boy scrambled to follow her out the door, staggering to pull on his boots and coat before the door slammed shut. 

The two friends walked together through the snow, Dipper’s mouth drawn into a thin line as the realities of what Pacifica had started dawned on her. 

“That was a real dick move, ya know,” the boy said, voice firm as he spoke truth to her thoughts. Their breath came out in white wisps, and the Oregon cold grew colder the more night fell. “Like, I get it,” he continued, “You’re getting back at Mabel for hurting you this past Summer.” 

“But,” she prompted as the two of them came to a stop at the edge of a frozen pond. 

Dipper picked up a stone and tossed it at the ice, cruising audible cracks to spread over its surface, “But nothing. I understand why you did that.”

Pacifica picked up her own stone and threw it, listening to how the splintering moved farther and deeper into the ice, “So what, then?”

Eyebrows knit together, the boy sighed, blowing out a billowing cloud in the small space between them, “I don’t know Paz. Do you feel any better now that you’ve caused an already shaky relationship to break down even more?” 

“Antagonizing Grenda always makes me feel better. Besides, like you said, I’m getting back at Mabel.” She picked up one more rock and threw it as hard as she could. Its collision with the ice made a satisfying snapping sound, and the two friends watched as the silvery sheen over the pond completely shattered, sinking into the freezing water below. 

Dipper gripped onto the girl’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him, “Paz, listen to me. In the long run, does it really make you feel better to be so ‘eye-for-an-eye’ about your most cherished personal relationships?” 

Pacifica shrugged, but a seed of guilt planted itself in her stomach at his gaze, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen the long run yet.” Dipper nodded, finding the answer more so in her face than her prideful words. 

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand as he turned away from the water’s edge, “Let’s head back now before Stan sends out a search party. 

The walk back to the shack was more jovial, with Dipper expressing his excitement to partake in Christmas traditions for the first time. Soon, the towering sign of the shack came back into view. “So is it like, too late to get an advent calendar? Or is there still time,” he asked, enthusiastic at the prospect of eating a piece of chocolate every day for a month all in the name of Jesus.

“Hell yeah dude! We’ll go to the store tomorrow and get so-”

“Oh _shit_ Pacifica. Look.” Dipper stopped the two of them dead in their tracks. He pointed to the living room window, but when Pacifica looked, all she saw was the light of the menorah. Just as she was about to ask, the front door slammed open to reveal a furious Mabel stomping quickly towards the pair. 

“Paz you’d better run.” And Pacifica sure did _try_ to take her best friend’s advice, but between the snow and Mabel’s head start, she only got a few paces before the other girl tackled her to the ground, screaming and shoveling snow in her face. 

“ **_WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! ARE YOU ACTIVELY TRYING TO SABOTAGE MY RELATIONSHIP???!!!_ **” 

“Ok, ok, I know I shouldn’t have done that but-” 

Pacifica’s weak defense got drowned out by more shouting, “ _But?_ **_BUT?_ ** _It’s like you have this crazy mentality that if you can’t be happy, then no one can!!_ ” 

The blonde’s own voice picked up in strength and volume, “Now you wait a second. Are you trying to say you’re _happy_ with Grenda? If your relationship was so solid, it wouldn’t matter that you and I share a bed because you’d be confident enough in each other to recognize that you and I are no more than _friends. Right, Mabel?_ ” 

“How _dare you_ insinuate about mine and Grenda’s relationship! You don’t know anything!”

“ _WHAT?!_ You act like I don’t listen when you speak!”

“ **_YOU DON’T!!_ **” 

Now Mabel was just outright lying, making the blonde blood boil even more, “Well, if that were true, I wouldn’t have a library in my brain of every single time you Facetimed me this Fall in which you complained about your worsening relationship _Every. Single. Time_ ,” Pacifica tone turned a shade more sympathetic and tears streamed from both of their eyes, “Jesus, Mabel. If you’re that unhappy, why don’t you just break up with her already?” 

The brunette’s resolve crumbled, finally allowing Pacifica to rise to a sitting position with Mabel straddling her lap. Beating her fists weakly against the other girl’s chest, “Because I’m terrified to lose her as a friend,” she choked out between sobs. 

“Well...yeah...but you can’t go on like this.” 

Mabel batted away Pacifica’s attempts to drop a loving caress on her face. Her eyebrows knit so closely together, Pacifica was sure her friend would develop a killer headache. “Pacifica...just stay out of it,” the brown-eyed girl pleaded, voice shot. 

But Pacifica’s mind just refused to cool, and with voice back up to 11 she exclaimed, “ _What?! You brought me into this_ ,” right in the other girl’s face. Mabel, uninterested in going another round, completely steeled her face and sent Pacifica sprawling back into the snow with a harsh shove to the chest. 

Pacifica scrambled up onto her elbows, and seeing Mabel retreat back into the house, shouted, “ **I wish I’d never met you! I do! I wish I hadn’t gone to that god-forsaken party!** ” 

Mabel paused. The only sound in the air was Pacifica’s hard breathing. Family members watched from the windows and doorways as Dipper helped the blonde back up to her feet. Without another word, Mabel reached the door to the Mystery Shack, nearly knocking it off its creaky hinges with how hard she slammed it. 

So their fight gnawed on Pacifica. Plus it didn’t help that it was Christmas Eve and Mabel hadn’t spoken a word to her since their screaming match a week prior. Every attempt to get a word in immediately send the other girl fleeing to another room. Mabel wouldn't even spare Pacifica a passing glance. After a day or so of being completely shut out, the blonde stopped trying. She got the message.

Pacifica didn’t even have to think about it, not daring to step to even the bottom stair to the attic. She slept on the couch without question even though it felt like her back was being irreparably ruined.

That night, the family (minus Mabel who chose to spend Christmas Eve with the Grendinator’s) sat around the kitchen table, compiling an order for Chinese food. 

“Pacifica, you’ll go pick it up,” Stan grunted, trying to decide between shrimp fried rice and beef with broccoli. 

“What? Why me?”

“Cuz you’re not Jewish.”

After she returned from her perilous journey through the snow-laden roads, Pacifica’s reward was a fine meal of piping hot orange chicken. At some point, the door opened and then shut, followed by footsteps fading upstairs, but the family was too engrossed in their meal to pay the noise much mind. 

“So Paz,” Dipper asked around a piece of sweet and sour pork, “Are we still on for that New Year’s Party? The one at the civic center. What was the theme again?” 

“1920’s glamour, and yeah we’re still on. I’ve been looking forward to it since I found out you would be in town.” She paused, stirring her food around in its container. “Do you think...Mabel will still want to go…?”

“You could ask her,” the boy replied, spitting bits of rice down his chin.

“Can you ask?” 

He chewed, leveling her with quite the look before relenting and taking pity on her, “Yeah...I can ask her…”

The rest of the evening passed without fanfare. Stan and Ford got buzzed off spiked eggnog. Dipper tore into the last night of his advent calendar with glee. The teens smiled as Peter and Jane Pines met in a loving kiss under the mistletoe. The love felt within the walls of the shack that night was the best gift Pacifica could have received that year. Soon, the clock struck late, and it was time to turn in. 

In the middle of the night, Pacifica lay tossing and turning on the couch with a leg hanging off the side. In true active-sleeper fashion, the hem of her t-shirt rode up, exposing her toned stomach. The room was pitch black, and the girl threw an arm over her eyes in a desperate attempt to find sleep. 

Minutes passed, maybe hours, maybe seconds, but at some point, Pacifica felt a weight press down on the couch near her feet, and a smooth hand reached forward to run itself over the pale girl’s bare torso.

Pacifica removed her arm, looking up to find a very resolute-looking Mabel. “You’re shivering.” In the back of her mind, the blonde cursed Stan for still procrastinating fixing their fickle heater.

The caressing hand turned into a sharply jabbing finger, “I’m so fucking mad at you,” Mabel spoke into the air, voice soft. Two pairs of eyes met, and just like that, the ocean shook hands with the land. 

Pacifica grasped for anything she could say. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” The truth. She settled on the truth. 

Mabel raised her eyebrows and broke eye-contact to watch herself draw shapes and letters around Pacifca’s belly button, “And what exactly did you say?” She held up a hand to stop the other girl before she could answer. “Let me rephrase. What did you _imply_?”

Pacifica’s athletic shoulders sagged and she picked at the skin around her still healing tattoo. Defeated, she said, “I’m sorry I implied that you’re cheating on Grenda with me. It’s not true.”

“Damn straight.” 

She shook her tawny head, eyes filled with pain as she looked around for any other words, “Mabes I-” she started, but her sentence was cut off by Mabel leaning forward to burrow into her chest, her screams muffled against the fabric of Pacifica’s t-shirt. For a moment, she sat there, hunched against the taller-girl, as the debutante sat shocked and motionless, scared to even move a muscle and ruin the scene. 

The moment passed, and after delicately extracting herself from Pacifica chest, “Did you really mean it, when you said you wished you’d never gone to that party?” 

“Of course not.” A glimmer of hope bloomed on Mabel’s face before being beaten back by more of Pacifica’s words. “If I hadn’t, I never would have met Dipper.” 

Mabel sucked her bottom lip as eyes rich with anguish flicked over every angular feature that made up a Northwest. Mabel sighed, breath ragged, “...I need to apologize to you too,” she scrubbed her tired face with her hands, “For more than one thing actually.”

“That’s a start. What for?”

Mabel let her head drop, “I’m sorry that I manipulated you into giving Grenda a job. It was a real bitch move on my part, especially since you were still so raw from being kicked out. I’m also sorry for the conversation-”

“I seem to remember it as more of a fight…”

“Fine,” the brunette said, lips pursed with a humorless laugh, “the _fight_ we had at the end of last Summer. I had no right to be jealous and it was unfair of me to put you in that position.” 

A beat passed between them. A grandfather clock ticked away from somewhere within the bowels of the Mystery Shack. Pacifica checked her phone: 3:25 AM, Christmas morning. 

“I forgive you.” 

Mabel’s shocked face snapped up at the words, “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” 

Another second of silence passed, “I forgive you too.” Mabel sucked her lip and bounced her knee from nerves, “There really is a simple solution to all this heartbreak isn’t there.” 

Pacifica raised a shoulder, “Doesn’t make it any less tragic.” 

“R-right.” 

Pacifica’s warm hand came to rest on her friend’s trembling knee, “You’re shivering.”

“I’m still so mad at you.” 

The blonde smirked, “I know.”

Amazement shone bright and inviting in Mabel’s eyes. She bounced her knee once, twice more, “I’m exhausted,” she said, gesturing for Pacifica to move over. She did so, making room for the other girl to slide onto the couch behind her. It was a tight fit, but with Mabel’s strong arms wrapped around her middle, the place they were meant to be, Pacifica didn’t care that she was a deep breath away from face planting into the table. 

Pacifica felt Mabel nuzzle her nose into the soft baby blonde curls on the back of her neck. Breathe hot, “So, what Christmas traditions have to be fulfilled today,” the brunette asked. 

The Northwest girl blushed as she felt soft lips at the nape of her neck, pouring promises like wine. “Well, I think it would be fun for us to go caroling. We both have _such_ great singing voices.” 

Mabel chuckled, “I’d like that.” 

“Although,” Pacifica said, a smile coming back onto her face, “I have to insist that we sing Rockin Around the Christmas Tree at least thrice.” 

Dead air sat for a long second, but then giggles turned to chuckles which turned to hearty laughter, and the last thing Pacifica heard before drifting to sleep was the sound of a mending friendship and maybe just the inkling of something more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess the takeaway here is that I really like it when characters tell stories within the story they're in. 
> 
> Slowly but surely catching up with this fic. Expect the next chapter soon. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! Feel free to reach out! Bye y'all


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